Small Packages
by Glitterpixie
Summary: A sequel to When All is Said and Done, following Ron and Glin, with Draco/Ginny, Harry/Hermione and CatMcGonagall
1. It Starts

Authors note: As always, any characters from the HP series belong to J.K.R. This is a sequel to "When All is Said and Done," which can be found both at ff.net and at the WAiSaD e-group, at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/WAiSaD. Glin and Marigold are mine, and Law is kind of mine. Thanks to all my loyal reviewers, and to everyone who enjoys this. Questions or comments can be included in reviews, e-mailed to me at mlpmama@yahoo.com or posted to the e-group. Happy reading!  
  
Small Packages  
  
  
  
Glinda Goodrich rolled over onto her back. The mid-afternoon light was streaming right through the flimsy curtains and filling the room with light. Through a small slit between the draperies, a beam of light caught her eye and momentarily blinded her.  
  
She'd hoped to wake up before noon today, as she had hoped almost every day for the past two months. Rarely did it happen, unless she had an appointment of some sort. As she glanced about the room, she noticed that the clothes she'd torn off Ron last night were folded neatly and hung over the hand-painted oriental screen that created her dressing room. An overwhelming sense of guilt washed over her, and she sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed.  
  
"Hrgm..." Ron mumbled. Ron Weasley, her current... whatever, was sprawled out facedown on her bed. Which wouldn't have been so entirely aggravating in and of itself if he wasn't taking up a great deal more than half of the bed. His head was on her pillow, his left hand was where her stomach had been only moments before, and his big, gangly body was crowding her, damn it.  
  
She shoved at him a bit for good measure, and went to get dressed when he didn't move.  
  
"Where're you going?" He asked sleepily.  
  
"Christ Ron, look at the alarm. It's after three!"  
  
"So? Come back to bed."  
  
"Ron, I thought we discussed this." She angrily pulled the curtains open, even though the flat across the street afforded an excellent view of her bedroom.  
  
He groaned and rolled over, wincing his eyes at the light. "We didn't really talk about it. You were a bitch about your maid finding out we were involved, and I got mad and you... calmed me down, so to speak."  
  
"Well, there's the first problem. You never listen when I talk. I don't mind her knowing about us, I'd just rather she didn't have quite so graphic of an example. Secondly, I can't resolve every argument we have with sex."  
  
"Why no?" Ron said, lewdly assessing her nude form.  
  
"Stop that. My point was that I can't very well expect Louisa to clean up my messes when I'm passed out on the bed with you."  
  
"Why not? She's your maid. She works for you."  
  
"Her having to clean at noon when the two of us are all naked is... well I think it makes it a hostile working environment or something."  
  
"That's bullocks."  
  
"It's not."  
  
"Come back to bed," Ron said, hoping to diffuse the argument.  
  
"Are you completely devoid of any sort of worth?"  
  
"Why're you so up in arms about your maid seeing us naked? You're extremely over-emotional. Is this some sort of a female thing?"  
  
Glin stared at him open-mouthed in astonishment.  
  
Ron backtracked immediately. "That was obviously the wrong thing to say-"  
  
"Really, you think?" She retorted sarcastically.  
  
"I'm really-"  
  
"Let me guess. 'Sorry?' Fuck that, Ron. Get out."  
  
"I'll talk to you later, after you've had a chance to cool down."  
  
"Get out!"  
  
  
  
A knock sounded on Ginny's office door. "C'mon in, Sadie."  
  
Draco walked in, Ginny's secretary trailing behind him, sputtering angrily. "You don't have an appointment, Mr. Malfoy. I really must insist-"  
  
"Does a man need an appointment to bring a biscotti to the woman he loves?" Draco asked Sadie, in a manner that could charm the socks of almost anyone.  
  
"He does if she's the Minister," Sadie replied stubbornly.  
  
"I'll try to see that he makes appointments in the future, Sadie," Ginny said, sending them both a quelling look.  
  
Sadie left with a sour look on her face, shutting the door behind her.  
  
"Biscotti?" Ginny said, wrinkling her nose at him. "One of those dry cookie things?"  
  
"Biscotti for me, Pop-tarts for you."  
  
"What kind?" She asked skeptically.  
  
"Strawberry, no icing." He held the foil-wrapped square out to her. "As if I'd forget."  
  
"Mhm," she replied through a mouthful of toaster pastry. "C'mere."  
  
He knelt down next to her wheelchair, concern blooming across his features. "What is it, Darling?"  
  
Before he could protest, she pulled his face to hers. He tried to be brave, to stick to his resolve. For five long weeks, he hadn't given her more than a quick peck on the cheek, knowing that if he kissed her like he wanted to it would lead to other things, things Ginny's battered body weren't ready for. Just now, though, she was biting his lower lip, searching for a response.  
  
Against his will, he opened his mouth to her and she was inside him, tasting of strawberry jam and a flavor that was all her own. Under her sweet mouth, his defenses crumbled and he began to actively respond.  
  
One of his hands was tangled in her hair, the other cupping her face, tilting it towards his. She shifted in her chair, and he pulled back, panting. "Ginny, we can't." His eyes still dark with passion, he stood, raking a shaking hand through his hair.  
  
"It's been five weeks," she told him, her voice unnervingly calm. "I'm not going to break if you touch me."  
  
"The medi-wizard said six weeks in the wheelcahir, because he didn't want you re-injuring anything. Do you honestly think there'd be no risk involved in us..." His pale cheek turned red.  
  
"We could go slow," she reasoned.  
  
"Not bloody likely," he said realistically. "I touch you and I go mad. It's always been like that with us. After five weeks, I'm not entirely sure I can stand much more than a peck on the cheek."  
  
"Screw that," she told him. "Pardon the pun. I'll just owl the medi-wizard and ask."  
  
"Ask him what- 'Hullo, this is the Minister, when can I fuck again?'"  
  
"There's no need to be vulgar. I'll just ask when I might be able to participate in strenuous physical activity."  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. "As if he wont see through that one. 'Hmm... The Minister must be quite the quidditch enthusiast.' However did I find a genius like you?"  
  
"Through a great deal of luck, and very little natural skill," she retorted. "By the by, Dumbledore owled me about Marigold."  
  
"Why didn't he owl me?" Asked Draco, getting a hurt look on his face, that Ginny recognized immediately as him feeling slighted.  
  
"I'm the one who owled him in the first place, Draco." She explained calmly. "He said she's most certainly not a squib, she's been on the Hogwarts list of magical children since her birth."  
  
"Bloody hell. You don't think he could have told me any sooner?" Draco said in frustration.  
  
"He probably didn't know you thought she was a muggle. As far as he can tell, she probably wandered out of her room when we didn't come to tuck her in, and was watching when Pansy... She probably picked up the stupefy from there. Pansy'd just thrown our wands into the hall and she picked one up and tried it out."  
  
"But how is she now?" He demanded impatiently.  
  
"She's fine. Better than fine. She's been following Dumbledore around like a baby chick trailing it's mother."  
  
"Why'd we send her with her again?"  
  
Ginny sighed, repeating the answer she'd been telling him for weeks. "Because we needed 'us time,' and Marigold needed to be around other children in the wizarding community before she starts school. And she needed some sort of counseling. Dumbledore's good at that."  
  
"But we can't have 'us time' right now. We have to wait, and it's gets lonely," he complained.  
  
"It's good for us, I suppose." Ginny sighed. "I mean, most people get to know each other before. We'll just do things backwards. It gives a chance to see what we like or don't like about each other."  
  
"I love everything about you," he told her, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. "Except for that damn wheelchair."  
  
"I'd better owl the medi-wizard then, hadn't I?" She smiled softly, reaching for a piece of parchment and a quill. "I've got a meeting in ten minutes. You'd better get out of here. You could go down to Hermione's office and see if they know when you'll be able to get back into your house."  
  
"It's a manor," he corrected automatically. "Isn't she on leave to plan the wedding?"  
  
"Yeah, but Law's still down there. She'll know what's going on."  
  
"Right," he said, clearing the desk of breakfast's remains. He blew her a kiss, not trusting himself to touch her any longer. "G'bye then."  
  
  
  
  
  
"Just pick one," Harry pleaded.  
  
"Yes, but which?" Hermione queried. "The cream with a kelly green ribbon is a little more traditional, but a crimson ribbon with a gold card is rather original... Perhaps cream with a crimson ribbon with gold trim?"  
  
"Yes, that, excellent. Choose that."  
  
"Very nice choice," assured the wedding planner. "And what font are we thinking for that?"  
  
"Could we see some choices?"  
  
"Certainly," the woman smiled, as she flipped to a new section of her binder. "Parisian and Tabitha are very popular, but we've also got a very large variety to choose from-"  
  
"We'll take Tabitha," Harry cut her off. For a moment, he thought Hermione was going to contradict him, but before he knew it, the two women were off to a new section of that dreaded binder.  
  
  
  
Hours later, (though it most certainly felt like days) the only details of the wedding left unplanned were the identities of the wedding party.  
  
"I'm just saying it'll look odd," cautioned the wedding planner. Her name was "Charity," or "Faith," or some sort of annoying non-name that was really a virtue or something. Harry hated her.  
  
"Lupin and Sirius will not be ushers," he stated firmly, his voice rising higher.  
  
Hermione was attempting to mediate. "Harry's very attached to them. They'll have to be groomsmen."  
  
"Very well," the wedding planner sighed. "Just remember how attached to them he is when you look through your pictures and see two old men standing amongst a group of twenty-somethings. What about the bridesmaids?"  
  
"Glin'll be Maid of Honor, or the others will feel slighted. Ginny and Minnie as the other two."  
  
"And these people are of what age?"  
  
"Same as us, except for Minnie. She's got to be at least fifty-" Hermione looked to Harry for agreement.  
  
"Don't worry 'bout the age though. She's a cat."  
  
The wedding planner gave them a glare that said "you've got to be kidding." She sighed audibly, and in Harry's opinion, overdramatically. "I thought you wanted to have a non-magical wedding. People will be suspicious if they see a cat in the wedding party."  
  
"It's non-negotiable," Hermione said, no longer finding the woman so helpful. "Minnie's a very dear friend. It's ridiculous to even argue about this. After all, this isn't your wedding, is it?"  
  
"Every wedding I plan becomes, in a sense, my wedding," the wedding planner said through a plastic smile.  
  
Harry looked over at Hermione, who now appeared to be involved in a staring contest with the other woman. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Hermione stare someone down, but he had to admit he'd never see her up against someone as... forceful as the wedding planner. It was actually kind of arousing, now that he thought about it.  
  
"Perhaps we'll just plan our wedding ourselves," Hermione said, much in the same tone Harry'd heard Ron use when he made a particularly brilliant wizard's chess move.  
  
"I don't think that would be advisable," the wedding planner countered. "Most people in the business don't even talk to civilians." Check. She smiled, self-satisfied.  
  
"We aren't exactly civilians. Our wedding promises to be one of the largest social events of the century. It says in your binder that you did the Parkinson-Malfoy wedding?"  
  
Harry could tell by the look on Hermione's face that she was going in for the kill. Her hand reached over to brush the hair off of his forehead.  
  
"You see this scar?" Checkmate. "This scar means that this wedding is going to make Malfoy's look like something out of a movie about drive-through chapels. He's Harry Potter, you twit. You're probably going to forget my name before I walk out the door. But you're going to remember my face."  
  
The wedding planner rolled her eyes and scoffed. "And why is that, exactly?"  
  
"Because, I'll be the one next to him on the cover of every magazine in the country, wearing the Padma gown and a gigantic fucking smile.  
  
  
  
Hermione was practically skipping down the street, a grin stretching her face in comedic contrast to the deadly look she'd been wearing just minutes earlier.  
  
"You've just thrown out hours of planning and made a spectacle that's almost guaranteed to land us in every gossip column in the universe and you're grinning like an idiot. May I ask why?"  
  
"Harry, being justified in rubbing someone's nose in the fact that I'm quite possibly the luckiest woman in the history of the world is a rare and exciting occasion. Besides, I was right. We can do an absolutely smashing job planning this ourselves. Padma will outfit the entire party, of course. Glin's stylist will do the hair. We'll get the caterer's Ginny used for her thing. Really, I don't know why we ever bothered with that ridiculous woman. We're free of her and her ilk, forever and ever! Doesn't that make you positively ecstatic?"  
  
"Possibly..." He replied cautiously, one eyebrow raised as he waited for the other shoe to drop.  
  
"I know I'll probably go completely mad from the stress, and we'll probably end up wanting to kill each other, but for now, I'm deliriously happy."  
  
Harry looked at her closely, as she spun around in circles, insanely, down the sidewalks of Diagon Alley. "You're going to get sick if you keep doing that."  
  
"Don't be a stick in the mud! Spin with me!"  
  
"I don't want to get all dizzy," he said, latching an arm about her waist, halting her revolutions."  
  
"What if I kiss you until you're dizzy?" She queried playfully.  
  
"I dare you," he said, his green eyes sparkling like maple leaves in rain as the mood of the moment shifted abruptly. Her arms circled his neck and his arms tightened about her waist. Rubbing his nose against hers, Harry exhaled, his breath warming her cheek.  
  
To the observant passer-by, it appeared that the Boy who Lived and a woman they'd seen in the papers quite a bit were looking to create a scene that'd make the cover of a sleazy romance novel look tame. To the untrained eye, it merely seemed a bit shocking, but heartwarming, rather like a good bit of street theater.  



	2. An Evening In

  
Muggles really had the right idea about relaxing, or at least Glin thought so. What on Earth could be better than having a nice hot bath, followed by a mud mask and a heart-wrenching movie? She popped the movie into the player and fast forwarded through the previews. If she had to see another movie about a woman whose soul mate is a gay man, she was quite possibly going to vomit.  
  
The feature presentation sign flashed, and Glin hit the play button on the remote. A soft, mellifluous voice floated into the room, matching her wistful mood perfectly. She would have wiped her teary eyes, but her avocado mask still have ten minutes to go, and she didn't want to get goop on her hands.  
  
The movie played, never quite breaking out of the weepy territory it had entered after the bit with the morning gorilla/man scene. She hit the pause button, and went to wipe the goop off her face, at it was beginning to harden. Suddenly a loud knocking came from the front door.  
  
It was Ron. Who else would have to gall to disturb her beauty night? It didn't really matter, though, because she wasn't going to answer the door. After all, there was a reason she'd disconnected the fireplace tonight, wasn't there?  
  
But what if there was an emergency? It wasn't entirely out of the realm of reality to think that Hermione was dropping by with important saving the world business. Or maybe Ginny was stopping by to have girl talk about Draco. Or someone who wanted to discuss modeling? After all, Glin was an important and vital person. Not everything in her life had to do with Ron. In fact, very little had to do with Ron at all.  
  
She walked to the door and put her eye to the peephole.  
  
"BLARGH!" There was an eye, looking right into hers. And worst of all, it was Ron's eye. His big, ugly, oafish eye was glaring right into her apartment. Not that he could see anything, but it was the principle of the thing. You didn't just go looking into other people's peepholes. They weren't there so you could just spy on people. Well, they were, only not in that way. The semantics didn't really matter. It was her peephole, her apartment, and his eye had no place being in it at all.   
  
His significantly muffled voice floated through the door. While she couldn't make out the words, she figured the gist of it was that he wanted to kiss and make up. Or fuck and make up, as the case usually was with Ron. With an air of indifference, Glin walked away from the door, refusing to even acknowledge his presence. He kept knocking, and was now shouting something of the "let me in," nature, or so she supposed.  
  
Ignoring the noise completely, Glin went to the bathroom and washed the goop off her face. She moisturized, then walked into the kitchen to make popcorn. A few minutes later, the knocking was still going full force, but at least she had snacks now. Settling herself on the couch, she started the video again.  
  
Ron knocked harder.  
  
Glin upped the volume of the video.  
  
He got louder.  
  
David Duchovny got weepier.  
  
On and on, until she couldn't stand it any longer. She threw open the door. "What is it? What's so incredibly fucking important that it can't wait another day?"  
  
"You disconnected the fireplace. I was worried." His brow was wrinkled. "Why didn't you answer the door?"  
  
"Because I don't like you, and I'm busy. Go away."  
  
"Who else is here?" He asked, suspicious all of a sudden.  
  
"My hot date," she said sarcastically. "I decide to pull out all the stops and woo him with my grungy old sweatpants, rabbit slippers and popcorn. What business is it of yours?"  
  
"I'm your...guy, I guess. It's my business," he proclaimed angrily. "Just because we had a fight doesn't mean we aren't..."  
  
"What Ron? People who piss each other off then have meaningless sex? What are we?"  
  
"Erm... dating?"  
  
"No, dating involves going out. We're fucking, Ron. Fucking only involves fucking. Why can't you manage to get your tongue around that, pardon the pun? Is it the repressed British thing?"  
  
"I can say it. But I think we're more than that. We're... lovers, I guess."  
  
"'Lovers' involves love, and we don't have that either. Whatever it is we are, it's not working."  
  
"It could, if you only tried to be happy."  
  
"You're babbling like an idiot again, Ron. I'm tired. Get out."  
  
"Just think about it rationally for a moment. What would you be doing if I left? What would make you happy?"  
  
"I'd take my popcorn and finish my movie."  
  
"Then that's what we'll do," he said, kissing her on the cheek. He pushed past her and snagged the popcorn bowl on the way to the couch. As if with a quick, companionable kiss on the cheek he could make up for everything.  
  
And really, wasn't that what she'd been upset about in the first place? His complete ignorance of any problems at all? It didn't matter now, though, not when he was sitting watching what was undeniably a "chick flick." Not when he was eating popcorn and being friendly. Perhaps this was exactly what they needed. A night where they were just friends, where there was no pressure...  
  
"D'you have anything to drink?" He called from the living room.  
  
She flopped down on the opposite side of the couch, determined to give him the cold shoulder until he left. "Get it yourself."  
  
  
  
  
  
After six weeks of immobility, Ginny's legs were considerably wobbly. This hadn't hindered her movement, however. Since the medi-wizard had told her she could get out of the wheelchair, she'd been walking as often as possible.  
  
They'd had dinner at Ginny's flat that night. Malfoy Manor had been thoroughly checked over by aurors, and had been returned to Draco's care. The Manor had been left in disarray and Draco had chosen to keep his hotel suite rather than stay in a messy manor with bad memories.  
  
They'd had a quiet, intimate dinner. Minnie'd actually volunteered to visit Remus this evening, so they had the place to themselves. Take-away Chinese provided a welcome change from the frozen lasagna and curries with which Mrs. Weasley had filled Ginny's refrigerator.  
  
"More fried rice?" He asked. "There's still half the box left, and there appears to be a big chunk of egg in it..."  
  
She smiled, loving the way he knew that she loved egg in her fried rice. "It'll have to go in the fridge. I'm stuffed."  
  
"Cookie, then?"  
  
She nodded, and they cracked open the cookies to see their fortunes. Anti-climatically for both of them they both read, "I love you."  
  
"You cheated!" Ginny exclaimed. "You magicked mine!"  
  
"No more than you did mine," he smiled and kissed her on the nose. "How're your legs?"  
  
"Working," she replied matter-of-factly.  
  
"You know what I mean," he said sternly.  
  
"They're fine, Draco. Just a little ache-y."  
  
"You haven't been having spasms, then?"  
  
"Not many," she answered unhappily, knowing he'd worry. "They only last for a few moments, then I'm fine."  
  
"When?" He asked, concern twisting his features.  
  
"At night mostly. It's not a problem."  
  
"It is though. I can see it on your face. Let me put these things away and then I'll rub them. Go put on a pair of shorts or something."  
  
Draco began on the dishes while Ginny changed into one of her pajama short sets. Pulling open the medicine chest, she looked for the bottle of blended tea trea oil. Finding the clear bottle filled with pale amber oil, she returned to the bedroom, where Draco was waiting for her.  
  
"Get on the bed," he said gruffly.  
  
She handed him the bottle of oil, and laid face down on the bed so Draco could knead her calves. His weight dipped the bed, and moments later she felt his warm oil slicked hands gently caressing the muscles of her lower legs, and working his way upward.  
  
By the time he'd finished, her legs felt like warm pools of jelly. The bed dipped again as he moved back to the floor. His voice was quiet, somber somehow. "I've got to go, Gin."  
  
"Why?" She asked, her voice soft and raspy with sleep.  
  
"Because I'm...we're...if I stay..."  
  
"The medi-wizard said we just have to go slow."  
  
"I'm almost positive I can't go slow. Not after this long, Ginny."  
  
"Then sleep on the floor again. I sleep so much better when you're here."  
  
"I'll sleep on the couch then. You stay in here, I stay out there, okay?"  
  
"All right. I love you. G'night."  
  
  
  
  
"So basically, you've spent your whole life looking for that one woman who'd complete you?" Joanne asked him, staring deep into his eyes.  
  
"That's exactly what I'm saying," Bill said seriously, losing himself in her gaze. Her eyes were twinkling at him. He hadn't known a persons eyes could actually twinkle. How could such a beautiful woman be an undercover auror?  
  
"You are absolutely full of bullshit, Bill Weasley!" She exclaimed, giggling and shoving him lightly on the shoulder. "I know all about you, and you've done no such thing!"  
  
He sulked, and sat back on the overstuffed hotel couch. "What did they tell you?"  
  
"I can't reveal my sources, Bill, but they say you've been quite the ladies man. I've heard about broken-hearts all over the Eastern Hemisphere..." He was still sulking. "Stop pouting Bill, it makes your face look...Well, actually it makes your face look rather adorable. Continue please."  
  
"Whatever you say, Commander," he replied as he brushed her lips with his.  
  
  
  
  
  
She'd been giving him the cold shoulder. It would have been a great deal more practical to give herself a cold shower. He'd started by rubbing her feet, and now she was laying on top of him.  
  
Although it wasn't entirely sexual, which was odd. He was sprawled out on the length of the couch, and she was cuddled on top of him, watching the movie and sobbing at the sad parts as he rubbed her back.  
  
It was weird.  
  
She hadn't really expected Ron to be the back-rubbing type. Hell, for a great deal of time, she hadn't expected Ron to be the straight kind. Yet here they were, curled up on the couch watching a movie like normal people, like two people who actually cared about each other.  
  
To reiterate, it was weird.  
  
The screen faded to black and the credits began to dance across the screen. Ron continued rubbing her back and began to speak. "I'd like for us to go back to my flat now."  
  
Glin stiffened. "It's all you think about, isn't it?"  
  
"I'm not going to lie, Glin. I like having sex with you. I enjoy it a great deal. But more than that I'd like to fall asleep with you in my arms and wake up early and make you waffles."  
  
"Oh."  
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny woke with a start. For a moment she wasn't sure why exactly she'd woken up. And then she realized there was a sharp shooting pain in her leg. "Oh," she said to the empty room.  
  
She massaged it herself until the pain was lessened. A glance flicked towards her alarm clock revealed that it was 3:47 in the morning. It was a good thing tomorrow was Saturday, because she certainly wasn't going to get back to bed now.  
  
She hobbled into the kitchen to make herself a cup of chamomile tea, wincing at the cool linoleum beneath her feet.  
  
A noise from the couch startled her and she almost dropped her mug. It was just Draco shifting in his sleep. She settled into an armchair and drank her tea, watching him sleep.  
  
He looked like a child in his sleep, vulnerable, but in a good way. His arms were hugging a pillow, and a small smile was on his face. Perhaps he was dreaming about her. She finished sipping her tea and took her mug to the kitchen sink.  
  
Bending down over him, she pressed a kiss to his temple.  
  
She'd only intended to kiss him, because he'd looked sweet. But she soon found herself taking the pillow from his arms and replacing it with herself.  
  
In his sleep, he clutched her closer and fell deeper into his dreams.  
  
  
  
  
  
Glin awoke to the smell of something burning.  
  
She was in Ron's bed, and it was only eight in the morning. This led her to one conclusion and one conclusion only.  
  
The building was burning and he had left her here to die.  
  
She scrambled out of bed, wrapping a sheet about herself, because she didn't want to be rescued nude, and made a mad dash for the front door.  
  
"Where're you going?" Ron called from the kitchen.  
  
He was in the kitchen. Did he know how to use a kitchen? She was fairly certain he didn't.  
  
"I was trying to make waffles, but they didn't turn out so well. We could order in, I suppose..."  
  
"Let's just clean this up and go back to bed," Glin offered.  
  
"I thought you wanted to be up before noon..."  
  
"We'll start next week," she said, pulling him into her arms for a good morning kiss. "Ron, if I died, would you fall in love with the person who had my heart?"  
  
"Glin," he said in a teasing voice. "If you die, I'll die too."  
  
  
  
  
Draco woke with an odd sensation. There was a soft, warm weight resting on top of him. And it felt like..."Ginny?"  
  
"G'morning," she said sleepily, before kissing him thoroughly.  
  
"Ginny, we can't."  
  
"The longer we wait, the harder it's going to get. No pun intended." She smiled thoughtfully for a moment. "Aw, hell, pun intended." She began to kiss him again.  
  
"Erm..."  
  
"No talking."  



	3. Let's take a meeting

"Draco?" Ginny's voice was muffled against his sweaty neck.  
  
"Hmm?" His breath stirred the baby-fine hairs at her temple.  
  
"Could we move to somewhere more comfortable?"  
  
He moved, pulling his head away from her and rubbing his eyes with the back of one hand. "Why?"  
  
"Because, as much as I love you, Darling, you're heavy." She pushed at his chest ineffectually.  
  
Realization dawned across his face and he leapt off of her. "I've hurt you, haven't I? Where does it hurt?" He was frantic now, babbling.  
  
"I'm fine. It's just much more comfortable to be curled up next to you in bed than it is to be squashed under you on a lumpy, old couch."  
  
"But..."  
  
She stood up, wrapping her arms about herself. "I'm freezing. Let's get into bed."  
  
"We seem to spend a great deal of time doing that," he observed. "Perhaps we'd better just get dressed and wake up."  
  
Ginny arched a brow at him and looked him over carefully. "You're kidding, right?"  
  
"Absolutely."  
  
  
  
  
The doorbell was ringing. Ron's sleep-addled mind processed that much, at least. What it couldn't quite figure out was why. Who on Earth would be idiotic enough to call on him at this hour in the morning? For the love of Mike, it was only ten!  
  
It was probably somebody looking for a handout. People were absolutely ridiculous these days. Everyone was looking for a free ride. Well, screw them. He was sleeping.  
  
A warm hand snaked around his waist and he felt Glin's mouth brush his ear. "Make the ringing stop, Ron."  
  
"It's just the doorbell. It'll go away in a few minutes."  
  
"Make it go away, now." She pleaded.  
  
"Oh, all right!" He exclaimed fiercely, throwing the covers back.  
  
"Thank you," she kissed him lavishly before burrowing back down under the blankets. "And brush your teeth. You taste like ass."  
  
Ron rolled his eyes and slid out of bed. Pulling his bathrobe off a hook on the wall, he walked out into the entryway. He pulled the sash tight and flung open the door. "What?"  
  
"Honey, is that velour?" The odd little man in the horribly hip ensemble asked in shock. "You're far too young for your fashion sense to have died in 1963. Where's Glin?"  
  
"She's sleeping," Ron replied, baffled but irate.  
  
"I bet she is, the filthy, little trollop," the man said, trying to edge past him into the flat.  
  
"Just who in the hell-"  
  
"What a temper you've got! Probably goes with all the red hair, doesn't it? I'm Carloooooos," he said, as if that explained everything. Pushing a business card into Ron's hand, he slipped past him and was off to the bedroom.  
  
"Glin, Darling! We've got to get moving!"  
  
From beneath the bedclothes, Glin argued with him. "It's Sunday, Carlos. I'm sleeping!"  
  
"Fashion does not take holidays, Goodrich. I've gotten you a meeting with Antonio."  
  
Her head peeped out from beneath the coverlet. "Antonio? Really?"  
  
"Yes, really. Now haul that cute little bum of yours out of bed!"  
  
Ron evidently took offense at the remark about Glin's bum, and said as much. "Now see here-"  
  
"Darling, tell Patrick O'Sassiness over here to shut it and put some music on."  
  
"Ron," she glanced at him apologetically. "Shut it, and put some music on."  
  
"And none of that new crap, Ron," Carlos chimed in. "I'm thinking classic rock, I'm thinking 'I'm Every Woman," I'm thinking, 'It's Raining Men,' I'm thinking 'These Boots are Made for Walking...'"  
  
"I've no clue what any of that is," Ron told the odd little man. "How about you give me an explanation. And who in the bloody hell is Antonio?"  
  
"How about you catch?" Carlos threw a case of compact discs at him. "Pop 'Glin's Morning Mix,' in. Glin, I've got everything we need in the tote bags."  
  
Glin jumped out of bed, seemingly ignorant of the fact that she was completely naked. Grabbing a tote bag, she fished out a bra and a pair of underwear. Or, if you prefer Ron's interpretation, she fished out a bit of floss that wouldn't be sufficient for covering a toddler, let alone a grown woman.  
  
She wriggled into them, and wrapped a blanket around herself. "Do the hair, then the make-up!" She shouted at Carlos.  
  
"Am I new at this?" He asked her in disbelief. "Is it not my ability that's gotten those cute little genes of yours this far?" Evidently they'd had this little spat before, as he just launched right in without waiting for an answer. Ron, hand me the curler, and get the immobility spray ready."  
  
Having shared a bathroom with a teenage girl every summer for around seven years, and sharing a bathroom with Fleur off and on for two years, Ron knew what he considered a surprising amount about make-up and hair products. Carlos, it seemed, was not impressed.  
  
"I said the coal liner! This is charcoal! Are you daft?" In fact, Carlos seemed to be happiest when he was being critical. One of Glin's eyelids flickered and he took personal offense. "I'm trying to create a masterpiece Glin, but I'm not going for the cubist look. Hold still!"   
  
Ron watched the proceedings in amazement. Within fifteen minutes, Glin looked as if she'd just stepped straight out of a fashion magazine. Her hair was demurely curled behind her ears, in stark contrast to the bright red robes she was wearing. Her eyes were smoky and sexy, and her lips were blood red. Thigh-high red lace-up boots and a teeny-tiny handbag accessorized the look. She looked rather like Little Red Riding hood, only dangerous.  
  
Blowing a kiss in his direction, they both ran out the door.  
  
  
  
  
  
Charlie Weasley rolled over in bed, and, noticing the rays of light streaming in the window, pulled a pillow over his head.  
  
Rather unfortunately for Charlie, the heater in the ramshackle flat he'd been leasing for the past month or so was permanently on. No matter what he did, his flat was always ungodly warm. And the pillow was only making things worse.  
  
Trouble was, he didn't really have anywhere to go. What did the curator of a museum about dragons do on the weekends? Having only been a curator for around two weeks, he had absolutely no clue.  
  
It was nice, not having to sleep in a tent and all, but he'd expected there to be more positives for settling down. Like being in London, where there actually was a nightlife outside of a dragon being up all night with indigestion. Like having a permanent home, and being close to his family, and being around all his friends.   
  
And quite frankly, he had expected there to be women.  
  
Not swarms of them or anything. He wasn't holding any illusions here. He wasn't a Gilderoy Lockhart or a Sirius Black by a long shot. But if Fred and George had found wives, it shouldn't be impossible for him. After all, Fred and George were just rich. He'd been a dragon keeper.  
  
Operative word being "had." He wasn't entirely sure women thought of "museum curator" on their list of exciting jobs. Hell, it wasn't even on his list.  
  
It really shouldn't be that difficult. He was an intelligent man with a wonderful sense of humor. Or so his sister said. Come to think of it, no one except his family was really that keen on him. Perhaps he was really a troll, and no one had the heart to tell him.  
  
"Argh." He threw the pillow at the heater, hoping it would catch fire and he would die in the flames.  
  
No such luck. It just thudded.  
  
He pried himself out of bed and into what he assumed were a clean set of robes (they'd been in what he was guessing was the clean pile. They didn't smell anyways.) After a cup of tea, he decided to call on Lupin. Lupin was generally up for a good bit of self deprecating conversation and a game of wizard's chess on a Sunday morning.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Harry, which do you think for the bridesmaid's dresses? Crimson with gold trim, or gold with crimson trim?"  
  
Harry looked at her in disbelief. "D'you honestly think I'd have any manner of clue about that sort of thing?"  
  
Hermione looked up at him. "Right. I suppose I'll have to get Glin to help me with this then. Is there any part of the wedding you'd actually like to have input on?"  
  
"The cake."  
  
"Do you ever think with anything other than your stomach?"  
  
He came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her nape. "I think with something other than my stomach a great deal of the time..."  
  
"You don't want to invite the Dursleys, do you?"  
  
Harry released her. "Excellent job at killing the mood. No."  
  
"All right, just checking. Which of your quidditch fellows are married?"  
  
"How should I know? We just play quidditch together."  
  
"We socialize with them occasionally, I thought you'd know," she said irritably. "It's not like I'm extracting teeth here, Harry. I'm trying to make our wedding nice."  
  
"I'll find out. I'll get a team roster or something. Don't worry. We've got six months."  
  
"We've got only six months. Six months to plan an entire wedding by ourselves." She scrutinized Harry and retracted her previous statement. "I've got six months to plan an entire wedding by myself."  
  
"Now, now," he comforted her. "You've got Ginny and Glin."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Remus was still trying to get over the weirdness of waking up to find a former colleague asleep on his feet, when the doorbell rang. He folded his newspaper neatly, and went to answer the door.  
  
"Who is it?"  
  
The someone on the other side mumbled something, and Minnie sighed. "Honestly, Remus. You'd think you'd have realized that you aren't going to be able to hear them through the door. If you were really concerned, you'd look through the peephole."  
  
Remus didn't look through the peephole, though. It was highly unlikely that it was anyone except for Charlie, looking for a game a wizards chess and a should to cry on.  
  
"Hullo Charlie," he said, before the door was even open.  
  
But Charlie wasn't the one on the front stoop. It was a girl, a woman, he supposed, of indeterminate age, and she appear vaguely familiar. She had light brown hair, and she was short. At first glance, there wasn't anything remarkable about her.  
  
At first glance that was. At second glance, she had eyes that reminded him of jewels, shining and shimmering in the light. There was something behind them, too. Something sad, and sweet, and just a bit feline. And at third glance...  
  
At third glance he realized she was most assuredly far too young for him.  
  
"Do I know you?"  
  
The woman blushed and stuck out her hand. "Tracy Knight. One of the American aurors. Is McGonagall here?"  
  
"Er...yeah, I guess." He ushered her into his small home. "I'm Remus Lupin, by the way."  
  
"I know. I'm not in the habit of showing up on the stoops of people I don't know."  
  
"So we've met?"  
  
"Briefly." She didn't add that it was evidently brief enough for him to forget her. It wasn't right to expect other people to remember tiny, insignificant details like women they've only met once. Most of her friends were aurors, and she'd gotten spoiled in that regard. Still, it bothered her somehow.  
  
The cat was sitting on Lupin's dining room table, right in the middle of the paper he'd neatly folded. She was reading, skimming the headlines most likely, Tracy thought, because cats eyes weren't ideal for reading. In fact, she probably wasn't reading them at all. She'd probably been listening to their little conversation on the stoop and was now pretending she didn't care about it a bit.  
  
Which, Tracy though, would certainly have been what she would do if she thought people were talking about her. "McGonagall?"  
  
"Yes..." The cat lapped her saucer of ice water disinterestedly.  
  
"You said you'd be interested in seeing some of the junk we pulled out of Malfoy Manor?"  
  
"Yes..." It was obvious she was feigning disinterest at this point.  
  
"Well, I brought over some photographs of the unidentified objects. Thought you and Lupin might have a go at identifying them before we tossed them in with everything else. But if you're not interested..."  
  
The cat looked up from the paper, finally. "Just because I don't get all wound up like a kitten on catnip doesn't mean I'm not interested. It just means I'm a cat. Bring them into the sitting room." She leapt gracefully off the table, and trotted into the next room, her tail pointing straight into the air. "And bring my saucer."  
  
Before they were settled, another knocking came at the door. Remus stood to answer it. "That'll be Charlie."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Glin and Carlos walked into the impossibly chic restaurant with their heads held high. Carlos had a look of triumph in his eyes, like one of those ridiculous fisherman on the telly does whenever they break a record on bass size. Glin's eyes were sparkling like ice, and the look on her face said she knew that before she sat down, she'd have the job. One look at her, and they'd give her anything they could to make her theirs.  
  
She hadn't met him before. He was tall, almost as tall as Ron. His hair was dark, as were his eyes, and his skin was a beautiful shade of olive. He looked like he should be a model, not a photographer. The way his robes fitted him had to be illegal for some reason. His body leaned in and out of the curves of the pin striped robes, following it like an expensive sports car hugging the curves of a mountain pass. Antonio's eyes were hungry, but not in an unpleasant way. He looked as if his fairytale princess had just waltzed into the room. His face stayed that way for awhile, before he put a steely business gaze in his eyes. His companion was a squat little man.  
  
Both men stood and Glin and Carlos reached the table. The small man spoke first. "I am Mario. I believe you know of Antonio."  
  
"I'm Carlos. I believe you know Glin."  
  
Antonio took her hand and kissed it, his well-manicured fingernails caressing her palm. He murmured something almost inaudible, offered no further explanation, and motioned for them to sit down.  
  
They did, Carlos and Mario having what appeared to be a staring contest as Antonio helped Glin into her chair.  
  
Antonio spoke for the first time then, his speech tinted with only a bit of an Italian accent. "My dear, I do not like to be kept waiting. We are not Malkin's, you know."  
  
"If you were Malkin's I wouldn't have troubled myself with getting out of bed at all," she told him honestly.  
  
His chuckle was low, deep and rumbling. "No, I suppose you wouldn't. Let's not let business spoil our lunch." Antonio covered her hand with his. It was a gesture of assumed intimacy, and as much as it made her uncomfortable, she couldn't pull away. Not because it would offend him, and not because he was holding her hand by force. He was doing something with his eyes...  
  
Ignoring this slightly disturbing factor, she decided to voice her opinion. "No offense, Antonio, but this is a business luncheon, not a social event."  
  
"Why can't it be both?" He was still holding her hand.  
  
"Because mixing business with pleasure is a nasty habit, and as you already witnessed with my little exercise in tardiness, I've got too many as it is."  
  
His eyes flashed something...respect? Or was it anger? The look was only there for a moment before his eyes went back to their usual unreadable selves. He released her hand and sat back in his chair. "Very well, Signora. Mario?"  
  
His miniature companion snapped to attention. "We're prepared to offer Miss Goodrich this contract."  
  
Carlos looked over the parchment the little man had pushed across the table, skimming. Things looked pretty standard, for a first offer, except for Antonio's complete creative control clause.  
  
"What's this about complete creative control?"  
  
"My client simply wishes to have final say on Glin's appearance in photographs and in public."  
  
Glin's looked at the three men disbelievingly. Antonio and Mario seemed to think this was more than reasonable, but Carlos was looking dumbfounded. "No, no way. It's my body. I have the final say."  
  
"But..." The ferret-like little man protested.  
  
"No," she told them, directing her answer at Antonio. "It's my body, it's my decision. I have the control or there's no deal."  
  
"Darling," he condescended, the way he said it sending unpleasant little shivers up her spine. "I'm an artist. I must have some control over what's going prancing about town with my name connected to it."  
  
"And I'm not going to go prancing about town with the stigma of something you thought was art hanging about my head for the rest of my life. I've been on the peripherals of this industry for five years now. I've seen what up-and-coming photographers think is art, and I've seen what they can do to models." She was fierce now, her aquamarine eyes glowing with anger. "You're developing a reputation, Antonio, as a future star. But don't be ignorant of the fact that what I say, what I do, what I try on in a store on a whim is fashion, regardless of who is snapping the pictures. I have the power to further your career, if you want to use it. But you can't harness my abilities to suit your needs. I'm riding my career to the top, and if you want to ride piggyback, that's fine, but you'll do it on my terms." She stood. "I've got things to do. Carlos will owl a contract by your office later with my terms. Sign it, don't sign it. It's your career."   
  
She swept out of the restaurant. As she looked back to watch Carlos trailing behind her, she caught a glimpse of Antonio's eyes. She'd expected to see anger, and perhaps a bit of respect. There wasn't any anger in the deep, dark pools. There was only excitement, as if he'd given her a test and she'd passed with flying colors. To say it unnerved her would be to put it lightly.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
This time, it actually was Charlie at the door, but not far behind him was Ginny's secretary, Sadie, a short woman with extremely curly dark brown hair. She appeared to be having an extremely bad day.  
  
"Has Tracy Knight been by here?"  
  
Missing Tracy's "I'm not here" gesture, Remus let the little woman into the house. Upon seeing Tracy, she seemed to get even more enraged. "Auror Knight, I really must insist you actually check to make sure that the Minister approves of your showing classified information to civilians."  
  
"I sent in a request," she said innocently.  
  
"You didn't wait to hear what the response was," Sadie added pointedly.  
  
"I'm sure Ginny..." At Sadie's sharp look she rephrased her statement. "I'm sure the Minister wouldn't mind."  
  
"Regardless, proper protocol must be observed."  
  
"Fine then." Tracy plopped down in one of Lupin's armchairs and looked at Sadie challengingly. "Owl her."   
  
"I have. I'm just waiting for a response."  
  
"It may be awhile. He has enormous... staying power, as it were." The cat cautioned. At their shocked and horrified expressions she rationalized her previous statement. "What, like you weren't all thinking it?"  
  
"I wasn't," Remus said in astonishment. "I don't speculate about the... whatever of former students!"  
  
"I was," Tracy admitted nonchalantly.  
  
"She's my sister!" Charlie squeaked, which was relatively amazing to hear from someone who looked rather like a bear.  
  
Sadie just blushed.  
  
"Oh, fine, Tracy and I are horrible, horrible sluttish women."  
  
"I object to being called horrible," Tracy sniffed, with a lavish wink in Lupin's direction.  
  
Just then, a tawny gold owl appeared at the window. Sadie went to let her owl in. "Have you got any treats for Demeter, Mr. Lupin? I haven't got any with me."  
  
Remus handed her one of the cat treats he kept around for Minnie. The cat glared at him, but he paid her no heed. "Here you are, Demeter."  
  
The note on Demeter's leg said, much to Sadie's chagrin, that Ginny didn't mind at all, and would appreciate it if Sadie helped them look over things, as she was rather smart about magical artifacts.  
  
Tracy didn't even try to hide her self-assured grin as she fished an envelope of photographs out of her bag. "Well, people, let's get down to business then, eh?"  



	4. The Return

Author's note: As always, characters and places mentioned belong to JKR and Warner Bros. with the small exception of Glin, Sadie, Tracy, Marigold, Sheridan and a few others. Thanks to my loyal reviewers, and if you like this, please join the discussion group! http://groups.yahoo.com/group/WAiSaD Guesses as to final pairings may be posted there, as may questions for clarification. ~TGP   
  
  
  
  
  
The four humans and one cat had gathered around the circular oak table in Remus's breakfast nook. Tracy sat in the center, with Remus and Sadie on either side of her, with McGonagall sitting next to Remus, and Charlie sitting next to Sadie.   
  
They'd been through a large stack of the photographs, and were dividing them into piles of "unknown," "dark arts," and "harmless."   
  
The image Tracy had just put in front of them was of a light blue sphere. It looked kind of like a crystal ball, only opaque rather than clear.   
  
"This one has us baffled. It appears to be under some sort of enchantment, but we're not entirely sure what." She pointed to the sphere in the photograph. "See here, it appears to glow, but it's not under any sort of illumination charm. After a few minutes in the dark, the glow fades away."   
  
Lupin leaned over the cat to look more closely at the image. "It's phosphorescent calcite," he told her matter-of-factly. "It glows bluish-white?"   
  
"Yup," Tracy replied, not showing her astonishment. "But what's its purpose?"   
  
"Let me look at the picture," Charlie said, mysteriously. Taking it from Tracy, he gazed at the image for a few minutes before proclaiming, "it's an Orb of Valhalla. They were used by the ancient Norse wizards to distract dragons. They were wholly unreliable, thus their use was discontinued." Curiosity was plain on all of their faces, and he delved further into his explanation. "The glow distracts the dragon, while a mild sedative aura is given off. It's not Dark Arts. I tried to secure one for the museum but they're extremely hard to come by."   
  
"Right," Knight nodded, taking the picture back. "I'd ask Malfoy for the donation then, as you appear to be the only one in all of Europe who knows what one is." She flipped to the next photograph. "It appears to be just a bit of branch, but the magical readings on it are through the roof."   
  
McGonagall gave a little gasp, or as much of a gasp as a cat can give anyway. "Owl the Ministry immediately. That needs to go under immediate protection and wards."   
  
"Why? Is it really all that important?" Tracy asked, confused.   
  
"It's an eighth of the Staff of the Sun. If all the pieces were ever reunited then it would destroy all magic. Is that important enough?" She asked sarcastically.   
  
"Right." Tracy nodded. "Sadie, go owl Law and tell her all that."   
  
Sadie muttered something, and pushed her chair out from the table.   
  
"Gods, I love pissing her off," Tracy smiled evilly as soon as Sadie was out of hearing distance.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Hmm?" Draco looked distractedly at Ginny.   
  
Ginny rolled her eyes. He hadn't been listening to a thing she said. The best way to keep his mind off of Marigold's return was to keep him busy, she imagined. "I'm thirsty. Would you make me a cup of peppermint tea?"   
  
"Sure, Love." He smiled indulgently, secretly glad to have something to take his mind off of his daughters imminent return. "Biscuit too?"   
  
"That'd be lovely."   
  
Draco hurried out of the room and to the kitchen, inordinately pleased that peppermint tea could take a great deal of time to prepare, if he really wanted it to.   
  
Fifteen minutes later, re returned to the study, and the sight which greeted him made his heart leap into his throat. Marigold was there, sitting on Ginny's lap as if it were the one place in the world she truly belonged. She was wearing the little silver wizard robes Ginny'd helped him pick out before her departure, and he realized how much he'd missed sharing the magical world with his daughter.   
  
"Ahem." Dumbledore coughed from his seat in one of the armchairs.   
  
Marigold looked up from the conversation she'd been having with Ginny and noticed her father in the doorway. "Hello, Papa." She smiled, and he felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. She looked happy. Truly and utterly happy without any of the dark shadows he'd seen so often lingering in her eyes. "I was just telling Ginny that Headmaster Dumbledore said I could go to Hogwarts and learn magic in a few years. He says I have loads of talent." She was practically beaming.   
  
"Quite right, my dear," Dumbledore chuckled. "Now give your father a kiss and unpack your things so I can discuss grown-up things with Ginny and your father."   
  
Marigold rolled her eyes and slipped off Ginny's lap. She kissed her father on the cheek and walked out the door.   
  
"Now, then, let me tell you what I think quickly so you can get back to your reunion." Dumbledore told Draco. "Marigold is a very smart girl, and very magically adept. Children with great magical prowess often don't show any signs of it in infancy, and when they do, it's very abrupt. Her biggest problem is going to be control. You've heard the phrase 'power corrupts?'"   
  
Draco nodded gravely.   
  
"It's not necessarily true, but if she doesn't learn some magical discipline, she could very easily become corrupted. I'd suggest sending her to a magical elementary school, then to Hogwarts a few years early." He smiled. "On an upnote, it seems she's smart enough to distance herself from Miss Parkinson. She doesn't ever refer to her in any sort of familiar way, and I suspect she doesn't even really think of her as her mother. Normally, a child in Marigold's situation would develop attachment problems, but Marigold is a very resilient little girl. She seems to have a normal relationship with you, Draco, and is quite fond of Ginny. I suspect a marriage wouldn't bother her a bit."   
  
Ginny's shoulders relaxed. She hadn't even realized that had been worrying her.   
  
"I'll leave you now. I've promised to have dinner with Remus and Minerva." They all stood, and he gave Ginny a kiss on the cheek. "Take care, Minister."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
She'd planned her dinner with Carlos as a celebration of her getting a modeling contract. It was supposed to be a good thing.   
  
Somehow, Ron didn't agree. "Why can't you just be happy being a wealthy socialite?" He grumbled.   
  
"Ron, I've just landed a modeling contract that every woman on earth would die for. I'm going to be getting paid outrageous sums of money to do something I love to do. Why is that a problem for you?"   
  
"Because, you're mine, and I don't want all the world looking at you."   
  
"That's always going to be the problem, isn't it," she sighed, wrapping her kimono closer around herself. "You can't seem to get it through your thick skull that I'm not a piece of property. I belong to me, no one else. People looking at me doesn't take anything away from you."   
  
"But-"   
  
"No buts, Ron." She went to rake her hands through her hair then thought better of it. She grabbed a mascara wand and began to darken her lashes. "We just don't work."   
  
"What are you talking about," he said, exasperated.   
  
She fished for a way to make it more clear to him. "It's like...it's like we're washers at a laundromat."   
  
Ron stared at her blankly.   
  
She put down the pot of lip dye she'd been about to apply. "At muggle laundromats there're all these washers. And there's always one or two of them that, rather than rumble around like a normal machine, do this spastic sort of shimmy. And everyone in the laundromat is staring at you like, 'that's the girl, the one who broke the washer,' and you want to explain to them. 'It wasn't me, it always does this,' but your clothes get clean, so you really don't mind overmuch. And then one day someone comes in and their washer does the same thing, and your not alone, but pretty soon, you are alone, because they've done their wash and they'll remember not to use that one again. Only you use the spastic washer time and time again, because there's nothing wrong with it, it's just different. D'you see?"   
  
"Not so much," Ron said helplessly.   
  
"It's a metaphor, Ron," she said jadedly, beginning to apply eye shadow.   
  
"Are we the people, or the washers?" Ron queried. "Ooh- are we the clothes?"   
  
"We're the people, Ron," she said tiredly. "I've finished my load, and I'm leaving the laundromat."   
  
"Why do I have to have the spastic washer for the rest of my life?"   
  
"It's irrelevant."   
  
"But-"   
  
"FINE! I'll take the spastic washer. You leave. It doesn't matter either way."   
  
"When I'm left with the spastic washer it matters," he grumbled.   
  
At this point, Glin made a loud, nonsensical, exasperated noise, clueing Ron into the fact that it was probably time to leave.   
  
  
  
  
  
He looked out over the city from the tinted windows of the office's high rise, at the tiny people bustling about their business below. The office was positioned in a muggle portion of town. Things were better that way, better if the people walking past the big steel building didn't read too much into the symbolism of a man who lived and worked at the top of a black tower.   
  
Antonio gave a contented sigh, and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head. Things were going much better than he'd hoped. His existence in this world, her world, hadn't been questioned at all. She not only accepted him, she respected him, which would make things harder in the long run, he supposed. But watching her illusions about the world become shattered as she learned to obey him without question...it was going to be fantastic.   
  
He'd heard about her temper from Fleur, had expected her to snarl when he provoked her. She had, which wasn't terribly surprising. It was the heat of her anger that astonished him. The way her cheeks and neck became ever-so-delicately flushed as adrenaline worked its way though her body. The way her deep, blue eyes flashed at him, communicating her rage. The way her pale gold locks fanned out as she spun her heel and turned away from him. The way she stood, with her head slightly tilted upwards, because she knew her own worth. It made his mouth water just to think about her...   
  
"Mario," he said telepathically. "I'm feeling absolutely famished. Send in something rare."   
  
  
  
  
  
"Harry, you don't have any qualms about going with a vest/tie rather than a cumber bund/bowtie, do you?" Padma asked as she directed a tape measure around Hermione's almost nude form.   
  
"No, I don't think so," Harry replied distractedly as he watch the measuring device zip up Hermione's thigh.   
  
"Good Hermione and I much prefer them to the bow tie scenario," Padma explained. "Vests are so much more sophisticated and I can't even fathom how much trouble bowties would cause for the lot of you."   
  
"Mhmm..." Harry continued eyeing the wily tape measure. It was currently zipping towards...   
  
Padma's hand. How unutterably disappointing.   
  
"Your turn," Hermione said, jumping down from the stool she'd been standing on.   
  
Harry laughed. "Very funny."   
  
Both women looked at him curiously.   
  
"You've got to be kidding me! I'm not going to have some magical measuring tape running all over my nearly naked body..." The didn't seem to be swayed. "It's inhumane! Degrading! A violation of the very worst kind!"   
  
"And it's my wedding," Hermione barked. "Take off your robes!"   
  
"Can't I just measure myself?" He whined.   
  
"Really Harry," Padma said with a shake of her head. "You've only got three months. You can't avoid this much longer."   
  
"Three?" Harry squeaked.   
  
"We had six months from our engagement. You proposed Christmas day in the ice cream store. Today is March 25th, so we've got three months left exactly," Hermione explained. She smiled indulgently, the same way one would smile at a stubborn child. "Now Harry, won't you please do it for me?"   
  
"I guess," he grumbled, unfastening his robes.   
  
  
  
  
  
Leaning over, Ginny brushed a small kiss over Marigold's cheek. The girl stirred slightly in her sleep before snuggling deeper into her pillow. Ginny had decided to check in on the child before crawling into bed with Draco. He'd retired earlier because it had been a long day, what with moving back into the Manor and Marigold returning.   
  
A pair of arms curled around her from behind, and a voice husky with sleep whispered in her ear. "Come to bed."   
  
She settled back into Draco's warmth, but continued to watch Marigold sleeping.   
  
"Did you ever think about having another child?" She asked, the words tumbling out of her mouth before she even thought them.   
  
"After Marigold... No." He replied brusquely.   
  
"Oh," she replied, her heart skipping a beat as her body tensed slightly.   
  
"Not with Pansy," he responded hastily.   
  
"Oh," she said, understanding dawning upon her as they walked down the long hallway to his bedroom. "And what about with someone else?"   
  
He took her in his arms when they entered the room. "No."   
  
"Oh."   
  
His nose brushed against hers in an Eskimo kiss. "There's no one else but you. Ever. Only you." He kissed her softly, punctuating the words. "Only with you."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Charlie had just settled down onto the leather couch in his office with dinner.   
  
"Dinner" was a cup of vegetable soup. He'd planned to just eat when he'd returned to his flat, but at around seven, lo-and-behold, his stomach had started to protest. The day had been spent making an inventory card for every item in the museum. He'd had a couple of the newer Hogwarts graduates interested in dragon-keeping help him do it, and the whole task had taken only around twelve hours.   
  
Now came the time to organize the inventory cards, and being the understanding fellow that he was, he'd sent the interns home. It wasn't fair to expect them to spend 18 hours working on what was, perhaps, the least interesting aspect of dragon-keeping, ranking even below dung shoveling.   
  
A knock came on the door. He stood to answer, then stopped when he realized that there was something more than a little odd about someone knocking on his office door after the museum had closed for the night.   
  
Setting his soup down, he grabbed a weapon and flung the door open.   
  
"What, you were going to brain me with the lamp?" Tracy said in disbelief.   
  
Charlie looked at the lamp in his hand. It had looked much more menacing when he was being attacked by some faceless Death Eater, not Tracy Knight. She was standing in his doorway, wearing an outfit that appeared to be comprised entirely of black spandex and utility belts.   
  
"Erm..." He set the lamp on the table. "How did you get in here?"   
  
"A. I'm an Auror," she said condescendingly. "B. You think I wear a grappling hook for fun?" She motioned to the coiled rope and hook that were on the utility belt.   
  
"Oh," said Charlie, hopelessly confused. "I suppose not. Why're you here?"   
  
"Well 'hello' to you to Mr. Manners," she chastised. "Malfoy says you can have this." She pulled the Orb of Valhalla out of her knapsack and tossed it to him. "Heads up!"   
  
Charlie grabbed the ball out of midair. "This is a very expensive artifact. What if I hadn't caught it?"   
  
"Please," she saidderisively. "You act like we're mere acquaintances. I know everything about you, Charlie Weasley. Every embarrassing little detail. I wouldn't trust you if I didn't."   
  
"What exactly do you mean by 'every embarrassing little detail?'" Charlie asked, his cheeks flushing.   
  
"I know you had a terrible crush on Elizabeth Montgomery who was a class ahead of you and didn't even know you existed. I know you asked her to the 6th years prefects ball. And I know you were turned down."   
  
"That was ages ago," Charlie remembered.   
  
"'Ages ago...' Sounds kind of like your last date..."   
  
"Were you thinking of fixing that for me?" Charlie queried shyly.   
  
Tracy leaned over and captured his mouth with hers.


	5. The Critics

Author's note: As always, it all belongs to JKR and Warners, with the exception of a strew of people, like Glin, Marigold, Carlos, Antonio, and a whole bunch more. Well, I've been putting you in suspense long enough. Please, be kind and review. I've had a horrible week, and my lumbar hurts (long story.) Join the e-group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/WAiSaD  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tracy kissed him for a minute before pulling back. "That was-"  
  
"Certainly not what I would have expected," Charlie put in.  
  
Her smiled widened and she sighed in relief. "You felt it, too."  
  
"Felt what?" He queried suspiciously.  
  
"Absolutely-"  
  
"Nothing?" He finished.  
  
"Precisely," Tracy didn't seem too upset about the whole thing. "It was completely devoid of passion or enthusiasm on both sides."  
  
"I'm glad you realize that," he told her, sitting back down on the couch. She sat down beside him and patted his knee.   
  
"I really thought it might work, Charlie," she told him. "I thought that I was just lusting after people because I was sex-starved. But with you, there's nothing. Less than nothing, in fact. Not even a modicum-"  
  
"Hey, I feel the same way, but I'm not babbling on about how horrible of a kisser you are."  
  
"Oh," she said, realizing how things must sound. "It's not that. It's just that if I'm not looking for some kind of fling, it must mean I'm lusting after someone in particular. Which is enlightening and helpful to say the least."  
  
"I'd imagine. Would you like a cup of soup?"  
  
"Vegetable? That'd be great." She flopped down onto the couch.  
  
"So, is this mystery man interested in you?" Charlie asked as he offered her the soup mug he'd just conjured up.  
  
"He just doesn't know it yet," she told him.  
  
"I wouldn't want you to get hurt," Charlie cautioned.  
  
She gave him a look of disbelief. "You think he's going to be a hard sell when I run around town wearing get-ups like this?" She motioned to the cat-suit that hugged against her body like a race car against a track. "I mean, I may be thirty-five, but I certainly don't look it."  
  
"You're thirty-five?" He was shocked. "You don't look a day over twenty-five."  
  
"That's my point," she said, eating a bit of the potato in the soup.  
  
He nodded. "Good point."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry stepped into the flat. The lights were off, but a little light filtered in through the windows in the breakfast nook. He loosened the neck of his quidditch robes and ran his fingers through his sweaty hair.  
  
She was supposed to have been there. Krum had very nearly snagged the snitch because Harry had been scanning the stands for her face. He'd thought that because she was on holiday from work, she might have more time for him, for them. It seemed as though she had less time for him than she ever had, though.  
  
A fat, furry body rubbed up against his leg. Crookshanks eyes flashed as he mewled plaintively. "She forgot you too, eh?" Harry queried as he scratched the cat's ears. "Accio kibble."  
  
With Crookshanks mollified, he walked through the darkened flat to the washroom, and threw his robes into the hamper. He stepped in the shower and hissed as hot water met cold, aching muscle.  
  
He shivered as a light breeze swept through the room. Crookshanks had probably nudged the door open. He did that a great deal, and it always made Harry uncomfortable, as if the cat were really staring at him and thinking "that's what all the fuss is about?"  
  
Determined not to let a cat get the best of him, he deliberately focused on nothing but the shower, even going to the point of closing his eyes.  
  
Two cold hands snaked around his chest, and a cold nose dug into his back. "Harry?"  
  
"Hmm?" He wasn't being deliberately dismissive. It was just... well, she was supposed to have come, and she hadn't, and sex, even if it was exciting shower sex, certainly shouldn't be able to make up for it.  
  
"I fell asleep addressing invitations," she told him, snuggling into his back and rubbing up against him much like the cat had. It certainly didn't have the same effect.  
  
"Why're you all cold then," he asked suspiciously, thinking himself rather clever.  
  
"The windows in the study must have been open. The whole apartment's freezing."  
  
"Ah." He said, nonchalantly, when he knew perfectly well that it was him who had left all the windows open yesterday.   
  
"One minute I was addressing Dumbledore's and the next I heard the shower start running. I missed your game." She said it sadly, as if she truly were sorry.  
  
"Quidditch never was very interesting for you," Harry hedged. "I shouldn't ask you to come when you don't enjoy it."  
  
"But I do!" She protested, swinging him around to face her. "I find everything you do to be absolutely fascinating."  
  
He smiled and his cheeks blushed. "That's bullocks."  
  
"No, it's not. I love everything about you. From the way you stir your tea around six times, then tap the spoon on the cup, to the way you indulge me when I'm having silly, little arguments with you. I love the way you smell- like a pine tree. I love the way you look at me so that I know everything is going to be all right. I love the way you cuddle Crookshanks when you think I won't notice." She laid her head on his chest. "And I love the way that even though I'm an auror, I only feel truly safe when I'm in your arms."  
  
"Is that all?" He teased.  
  
"I couldn't say it all if I had forever," she told him.  
  
"Ditto," he murmured as he lowered his lips to hers.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Rubbing his eyes, Draco woke from his stupor. Ginny was curled up next to him, her small arm clutched about his chest, with her head tucked beneath his chin. Her rosebud lips were hanging open just a fraction of an inch, and her warm breath danced across his chest.  
  
He liked watching her sleep like this, without defenses. Not that she didn't have a shocking amount of trust in him when she was awake. There was just a startling amount of intimacy in watching someone sleep.  
  
Her brown lashes were nestled against the apples of her cheeks, in startling contrast to her pale, apricot skin. A very slight smattering of freckles were spread across her nose and cheeks. Very pale pink, almost unnoticeable to the untrained eye, were the still-healing scars left from Pansy's torture. Somehow, he didn't imagine she's intended for it to be a testimonial to the fact that love heals.  
  
A slight breeze swept through the room, and goose bumps danced across the back of Ginny's neck and his own chest. Most likely, he'd left a window open. Groaning, he slid out of her embrace, or at least he made an attempt. Ginny seemed to have different ideas, and only clutched him tighter, making an unconscious sound of protest. Glancing at her, he realized that she probably wasn't as cold as he was, seeing as she was wearing his pajama shirt.  
  
Still, he wouldn't want her getting sick and jeopardizing her recovery. Prying her arm from his chest, he slipped out of bed, wincing at both the cold and the frown that slipped across Ginny's slumbering features.  
  
He sprinted to the wall, and closed the offending windows. Shivering, he slipped beneath the covers, amazed at how quickly he'd become cold. Almost immediately, Ginny snuggled up to him again, twining her warm legs with his cold ones. He was surprised that the lack of heat didn't startle her into awareness, but her small foot just massaged one of his cold calves, bunching the pajama leg up to his knee. Moments before the lure of sleep enveloped him, he yawned, and pulled the bedclothes up around her shoulders.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Carlos apparated to the street right outside Glin's flat. He waved at the door guard as he walked through the open set of glass doors. He took the elevator to the top floor, and stepped onto Glin's welcome mat. Or at least he tried to step onto Glin's welcome mat. It appeared a certain jealous red-head had slept on top of the aforementioned mat the night before.  
  
"Really, Ronnie, just because she's beautiful doesn't mean you have to lose your self respect."  
  
"Hurg?" Ron queried, waking at the sudden surge of sound in the quiet entryway.  
  
"Darling, this season may be all about texture, but I can assure you that waking up with the imprint of a rattan mat on your face is less fashion-forward than those little necklaces made of teeth that the hags seem to be so fond of."  
  
"Where is she?"  
  
"She's at the studio, gearing up for her first day on the job. I've just dropped by to pick up a few things I thought we might need."  
  
"Really? When'd she leave?"  
  
"She flooed out. I expect she wasn't particularly interested in seeing you."  
  
"Why?" Ron pushed himself up into a sitting position and rested his hands on his knees. "I did all the right things. I brought her flowers, I tried to 'talk things out...'"  
  
"You attempted to make her breakfast and then comically failed?" Carlos interjected. "Sugar, I've heard the tale a thousand times, and from individuals with much more money and charm than you. It seems everyone wants a little insight from a gal's gay pal."  
  
"Have you any?" Ron asked helplessly.  
  
"'Get your ass off that doormat and stop making me late' would be the first little gem that comes to mind." Carlos extended a hand to Ron, and helped pull him up. "Let's follow that up with a 'never wear those socks with this ensemble again,' and finish up with a 'men are so much simpler.'"  
  
"Really?" Ron asked, baffled.  
  
"Of course not, you silly git," Carlos hit him with a shopping bag. "That's my entire repertoire of stereotypical gay advice. Actually, I'd recommend backing off. You're wandering dangerously close to the line between ardent lover and stalker. A girl like Glin needs a little time to think things over. Call her in a week, and check in. Until then, lay low."  
  
Carlos pushed the heartsick Weasley in the direction of the elevator. "If worst comes to worse, just do what she does."  
  
"Prance about in skimpy clothing, taunting innocent, God-fearing men?"  
  
Carlos waggled an eyebrow critically at him. "Plaster on a huge fucking smile and pretend like your having the time of your life."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Sirius Black glanced at the letter in his hand. Harry was getting married and wanted Black to stand with him at the wedding.  
  
James had owled him, too, all those years ago. He'd stood beside James on the Hogwarts quidditch field and watched the man he loved as a brother pledge his heart to the girl he'd come to love as a sister. Years later, he'd stood next to them at Harry's christening. And in the end, he supposed, he'd stood next to their broken bodies as Harry'd screamed into the night.  
  
When he looked at the boy, he saw James. Saw James, polishing his broom the night before a match. Saw James whirling Lily about the dance floor like she was as light as a feather. Harry was a man like his father had been, and sometimes it was difficult for Sirius to separate James, the man, from Harry, the man.  
  
Years blurred together behind a veil of tears, and Black wished once again that'd he hadn't trusted Pettigrew. He'd told James when they'd first become friends that Peter was a liability, that he wasn't one of them at all. But in the end, he had trusted Peter. The lies, the flattery... they hadn't felt like lies at all...  
  
Harry was a good boy, though. He'd surrounded himself with genuine people, like Hermione and the Weasleys. Harry's done much better with his life than Black had done with his, that was certain. Black smiled softly as he thought of how proud James and Lily if they could see Harry now.  
  
He shook his head, refusing to let the tears fall, and began to owl Harry. He'd go to the wedding, and do what Lily and James would have wanted him to do.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A crisp knock sounded at Glin's door and she resisted the urge to spin around. "Carlos, I think they're getting restless..."  
  
"Hush it, and let your lip gloss settle. I'll get it."  
  
Carlos strutted over to the door, and flung it open to find a very sullen Mario standing there. "Yes?"  
  
"Antonio would like to see Miss Goodrich in the studio in five minutes."  
  
Carlos eyed the cranky little man for a moment before replying. "We'll see what we can do." He then proceeded to shut the door. "Throw on your cape, Little Red. The BBW awaits."  
  
"BBW?" She queried as slipped into a red dressing gown with marabou feather trim. She'd make quick change from the rack in the studio when Antonio told her what he wanted her to wear.  
  
"The Big Bad Wolf, doll." He brushed a kiss against her forehead as they stepped out of the trailer, and he murmured in her ear. "Don't let him eat you alive."  
  
Glin pointedly ignored him. "Antonio? Have you made a decision on what costume we'll be starting in?"  
  
Antonio whirled around from where he was fiddling with a camera and having a slightly heated conversation with one of his minions. "Glin, Darling. You're looking lovely as usual. I'm thinking we'll start with the Parfum de Malédiction spot. It's a muggle silent film star theme, so we'll be going with the black dress that's on the front of the rack. Carlos, if you could just slick it back a little, that hairstyle will work just fine. The eye shadow needs to be black to the crease, silver to the brow bone. Lipstick should be a vibrant red."  
  
Glin shrugged her robe off and let it rest on the chair, standing in just her undergarments and stepped into the form-fitting black dress. Carlos reached for the zipper and muttered in her ear as he tugged it up. "Suck it up, Norma Jean. You're about to become Marilyn."  
  
"You're mixing you metaphors," she said with a smile, as she sucked in a deep breath and Carlos secured the zipper at the top of the dress. He twirled her around, and spritzed something on her hair, raking his fingers through it. He finished by wiping wands over her lids and lips and spinning her around to face the photographer. "She's ready."  
  
"Indeed she is," Antonio said taking her hand and looking her up and down. "It looks like you've poured her into that dress. Carlos, you truly are an artist."  
  
"I've always liked to think so," he replied, plopping down into one of the many directors chairs that were sitting around the studio. 


	6. Fade to Black

Author's note: As always, much of this belongs to J.K.R. and W.B. Sorry about the cliff hanger folks. If you want some answers, and I'm betting you'll have some questions after this chapter, come ask them on the e-group, at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/WAiSaD or e-mail them to me, or post them in your review. And please review, they're all that keeps me going.  
  
  
  
Antonio checked the counter on his camera before snapping the lens cap on. "All done, Cara."  
  
Sighing in relief, Glin fell backwards, reclining upon the chaise lounge she'd been artfully perched on the end of and stretching her arms into the air. She knew she looked devastating with the teasingly sheer silver robes, resting against the rose velvet chaise. Which, for the fashion line she was modeling, was pretty much the point. She closed her eyes and did a bit of impromptu yoga.  
  
Her relaxation routine was interrupted when a pair of cool, well-manicured hands began to massage the muscles of her shoulders. For the moment before her eyes flickered open, she hoped, inexplicably so, that it was Ron. Logically, she knew it wasn't, of course. Ron's fingers were longer, like those of a pianist, and they were almost always warm. The hands kneading her shoulders were not quite as long as Ron's, and they were chilly at first, only warming when her own body heat seeped into them. Looking up, she saw Antonio's finely sculpted features.  
  
"Tired, mia bella?"  
  
"14 hours of being a human mannequin certainly is a change from my busy schedule of sleeping until noon," she yawned.  
  
"Has it been that long? You must be famished, my love." He clucked his tongue sympathetically. "I must remember to take better care of you, pet. Let me take you out to dinner."  
  
"Let me change out of this first. Wouldn't want to spill on a 1300 galleon set of robes that don't belong to me." A twinge of guilt nagged at her, but she ignored it.  
  
"All right then, go change into something delicious for me."  
  
Opting not to change her makeup, Glin slipped into a pair of heather gray cashmere robes. Anticipating being tired, she'd purposefully brought them along because they were one of the most comfortable things she owned. It's broad neckline left her shoulders exposed, and had a modest little keyhole just over the center of her chest. She stepped into a pair of knee-high suede boots in the same shade of gray, and looked herself over in the mirror.  
  
Finding her nose to be unsatisfactorily shiny, she pulled out her compact and dusted a little powder over her face. Deeming the results acceptable, she grabbed her handbag and left her trailer to meet Antonio.  
  
Mario escorted her to his office. He was lounging in a leather desk chair, his feet on the black steel desk. He looked like some sort of jungle cat, a panther or a puma, perhaps. To extend the metaphor, he seemed completely comfortable in his lair. The top button of his robes were undone, showing a bit of the gunmetal gray tie and charcoal shirt he wore beneath the standard wizard wear. It was a popular trend, wearing muggle clothes beneath robes. It provided wizards with a great deal more protection from the non-wizarding world, and some of them actually proffered them.  
  
The entire room was black- the walls, the books that lined the black steel bookshelves. Even the furniture was entirely comprised of black leather and steel.  
  
"You know, staring isn't polite."  
  
Her cheeks felt hot. "Sorry. I was just noticing your apparent penchant for black."  
  
"It's always in style," he said with a small grin.  
  
"Black, yes. I'd probably have gone with ebony over steel though. I'd give the place a homier feel." Her eyebrows knitted together as he shuddered. "What?"  
  
"I detest wood. It's much too... I don't know... 19th century for me." He waved his hand dismissively. "That's irrelevant though. Let's get some food into you before you waste away. I expect 'Mirage' is acceptable?" He stood, and looped his arm through hers. "It's just down the street, so we can walk."  
  
"All right then."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Remus rolled over in bed with the undeniable feeling that someone else was in his room.  
  
Other than the former colleague who was curled up at his feet.  
  
That's when he saw it. A shadow at the foot of the bed, just a flicker of black that shifted near the fireplace. He stiffened, and prodded the cat with his foot. McGonagall shifted slightly, but didn't waken.  
  
"Moony, it's just me." A man with shaggy black hair emerged from the shadows.  
  
"Padfoot?"  
  
"That's right."  
  
Lupin felt the muscles in his body sag with relief. "Any reason you're in my room in the middle of the night?"  
  
"Maybe I just needed a place to stay," Sirius offered defensively.  
  
Remus raked a hand through his hair, and sighed, more out of habit than anything else. "If that were the reason why not pick someone out of the throng of swooning women that seem to follow you everywhere?"  
  
"As if it weren't enough that the gossip rags go on about that kind of bullocks, I have to hear it from my friends now?" Sirius sounded annoyed, and tired.  
  
"If they're the kind of friends you impose upon at this hour in the morning, then yes, yes you do."  
  
"Fine," Black barked. "I'll just go then."  
  
Remus sat up. "Wait. I didn't mean that. It's just..." he searched for some justification for his behavior. "You left, and you never owled, not once. You contacted Harry a few times, just enough to assure us all that you weren't dead. Have you any idea how that feels, to know that your best friend in the world would contact some boy, a remarkable boy, but a boy nonetheless, before he would throw a stray word your way?"  
  
"Moony, you know it wasn't like that. Harry needed me. James and Lily's son needed me. You were fine-"  
  
"Was I really? How on earth would you know?"  
  
"I asked Harry..."  
  
"And Harry's suddenly become an expert on me, now hasn't he? Hasn't got any friends his own age, just crazy old Lupin..."  
  
"I couldn't put you in danger, don't you see that?"  
  
"You were perfectly happy to put Harry there though, weren't you? For him, the risk was worth it."  
  
"Harry was already in danger. He lived his entire life that way. When I owled him, it didn't make things worse for him. It would have made things worse for you."  
  
"Somehow I doubt that. Locked up in my own house, afraid every single day that they'd found you, or Harry or any number of people I knew. There was no one, Sirius, no one at all for me to go to, and that hurt."  
  
"I know," Sirius replied hanging his shaggy head. "It's unforgivable, and there's nothing I can do to make it up to you. But I'm here now."  
  
"How long will you be here?"  
  
"I've got no clue."  
  
"You're staying for the wedding at least?"  
  
"I hope so. I need to arrange for some place to stay."  
  
Which quite clearly implied that he expected Remus to find a place for him. "Talk to Ginny then. Draco's got a great deal of extra space in the manor."  
  
"What has Ginny got to do with the Malfoy boy?"  
  
"Haven't been reading the papers, have you?"  
  
"It was a hassle to have them owled to Brazil," Sirius replied, puzzled. "Why d'you ask?"  
  
"The quick run-down goes a bit like this. Ginny and Draco became involved, irritating Pansy Parkinson, Draco's ex-wife. Pansy tried to off the lot of them, but Draco's daughter, Marigold-"  
  
"Isn't she dead?"  
  
"That's what we all thought. She knocked Pansy out, and Ginny was rushed to the medi-wizards. She's only just recovered, and now she and Draco are some sort of a couple."  
  
"Is that all?" Sirius asked dryly.  
  
Lupin pondered this question for a moment before answering "And Ginny became the Minister of Magic. Glinda Goodrich and Ron had a brief, but torrid affair..."  
  
"So everything's just hunky-dorry in Pine Valley?" Sirius laid the sarcasm on thickly.  
  
"I've no clue what you're babbling on about, Padfoot."  
  
At hearing his old nickname, Black felt some of the tension drain out of his shoulders. He hadn't been entirely certain that Moony would roll out the welcome mat for him. "Can I crash here for the night?"  
  
"The couch in the den is a bit lumpy, but it'll do in a pinch," Remus advised. "There are some extra blankets in the closet in the bathroom."  
  
"You're kidding. I walked through there on my way in. It's freezing in there!"  
  
  
  
"It's illogical to leave fires burning all through the house when I'm sleeping in here."  
  
"Some host you are. Move over."  
  
Remus felt a pushing at his side. "You can't honestly mean to-"  
  
"Oh come on, you prude. It's just one night, and it is a king-sized-"  
  
"Queen-sized," Remus corrected. "And this will only add to the rumors!"  
  
"What rumors?" Sirius asked as he stole one of Lupin's pillows and began pulling the covers up around himself.  
  
"The rumors that you and I are... well...you know-"  
  
"Poufs?" Sirius supplied. "There are also rumors that I've stole women's hearts all over Europe."  
  
"Yes, well, that one's true," Remus said. "Stay on your side."  
  
"Quite right," Sirius replied with an ironically wolfish smile.  
  
  
  
  
  
Minnie woke up with a foot in her side, and grimaced. Usually Remus was more careful of her. She rolled onto her stomach and looked around. It wasn't nearly morning yet, but a little light from a street lamp peeked in the window. She turned to look at Remus...  
  
And noticed there were two of him. Only one of him was more muscular, and had black hair, and wasn't really him at all. It was Sirius Black.  
  
Minnie snuggled back down into the covers, smiling smugly. She'd always know they were poufs.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Bill thumbed through the stack of papers the goblins had owled to his hotel room. Being one of the top curse-breakers Gringott's had ever seen, he had his choice of assignments. Which was a privilege, if he really thought about it. However, for some unknown reason, he really would rather have someone else decide for him this time.  
  
Okay, so the reason wasn't entirely unknown. It was Joanne. He really didn't want to go halfway across the world and never get to see her again. However, settling down into some mundane desk job wasn't exactly his style.  
  
A knock sounded at the door to his room. "Come in. It's unlocked," he shouted absently.  
  
The door flew open to reveal Joanne standing there, an look halfway between annoyed and amused crossing her features. "William Weasley, you certainly do know how to charm a woman, don't you?"  
  
He looked up. "I'm sorry, Darling. It's just all this paperwork." He tossed the offending parchment onto his night side table. "There, it's forgotten."  
  
"Somehow I don't think it is." She sat next to him on the bed. "What're you so worried about?"  
  
"Nothing," he said, until he realized she wasn't going to accept that as an answer. "It's just that I have to go back to work soon."  
  
"And..."  
  
"And I'm a curse-breaker. Which means that I go places to break curses."  
  
"And this would pose a problem because..."  
  
"I don't want to go places," he said sullenly. "I want to stay here."  
  
"Is this wanting to hang around centered around me?"  
  
"No," Bill denied. "My family is here, and... Yeah, it's about you."  
  
Joanne rolled her eyes. "Men. You miss absolutely everything." Crossing to the bureau where he'd tossed the parchment, she thumbed through it, pulling out a set of assignment papers, and tossed them onto the bed beside him. "Take a closer look."  
  
"Athens. It's probably a typical cursed temple or something."  
  
"Check out the subheading, you big lummox." She sighed, and flopped down behind him on the bed.  
  
"'Athens, Georgia.' Isn't that near Russia?"  
  
"Not the country Georgia, the state. As in the United States. As in Athens, Georgia, where I live normally in a rambling old Victorian house on Live Oaks Avenue."  
  
"How'd you know about this?" Bill said baffled.  
  
"What, you think I'm not above going through your mail?" She smiled, and tossed her hair.  
  
"That's completely despicable... and illegal... and what are you doing?"  
  
"I'm putting my hair in a twist," she replied baffled. She stuck a final pin in, and her hair was secure. "Why?"  
  
"Take it down," he replied, his voice suddenly husky.  
  
"Why don't you come make me?" She responded, throatily.  
  
Bill leapt on her, pressing her down into the mattress. "Dinner can wait, can't it?"  
  
"We'll order up."  
  
  
  
  
  
Seated at the kitchen table, eating dinner in the breakfast nook, were Draco, Ginny and Marigold. Draco was serving simple fare, just spaghetti and meatballs with some broccoli and bread. He reached past Ginny to grab the salt and pepper shaker and noticed something glimmering on her right hand.  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"Hmm?" Ginny looked up from her spaghetti.  
  
"The ring on your right hand. When'd you get it?"  
  
Ginny looked confused for a second, then looked down at her hand. "Right, I must have forgotten about it. It's some sort of an Irish thing. Mum found it in the attic during her last little fit. Her fingers are too big so she gave it to me. It was probably my great-grandmum's, we think."  
  
"You're wearing it wrong," Draco advised her.  
  
"It's on my hand, I should think that would be sufficient," she replied, a bit wary.  
  
He sighed. "It's a Claddagh, Ginny."  
  
"What's a-"  
  
But before she could get it out, Marigold had spouted into a definition. "A Claddagh is a traditional Irish ring. There's even a little rhyme about it. The hands are there for friendship, the heart is there for love. For loyalty throughout the year, the crown is raised above. When you wear it on your right hand, with the point out, it means your heart is free. With the point in, it means you have a boyfriend, and on the left with the point in, it means that two souls have joined forever."  
  
"Where'd you learn all that?"  
  
"Uncle Neville brought me a book on Irish fairy tales once."  
  
They were silent for the rest of dinner.  
  
  
  
  
Glin and Antonio walked to her flat, because it'd been such a nice night for walking. Dinner had been wonderful. Antonio was a gentleman, not pushing her to order what he wanted, just calmly deferring to her when the waiter asked him about her order. He hadn't caused any little scenes, hadn't tried to kiss her at all except for the brief kiss he placed on her temple while they were walking. It had been perfect.  
  
He had been perfect.  
  
So why did she have this little nagging feeling in the back of her mind that there was something wrong?  
  
It wasn't Ron. She'd broken it off with him, and had been trying to do so for quite some time. Ron wasn't an important issue. In fact, he wasn't even an issue at all. He was a non-issue.   
  
She was lying. Ron was an issue. Still, she could have lived with the little pang of guilt that went with that. There was something else though. Something about Antonio that seemed too polished, too perfect.   
  
It was quite possible she was going to drive herself crazy if she didn't stop thinking about it. She turned her attention to putting her key in the lock of her door. It opened, and she turned. "Antonio, thanks. I had a really great time."  
  
"Perhaps too great, no? I think the wine is making us both very tipsy. Perhaps I can come in for a cup of coffee?"  
  
Funny. She hadn't felt tipsy at all until he mentioned it. But she opened the door, and made them both a cup of instant coffee. She gulped hers, and was surprised to look up from the table and see that he was finished with his.   
  
She led him silently to the door, and embraced him for a kiss on the cheek. Suddenly, she felt more and more dizzy, almost as if the room, her flat, and the entire city was spinning about. Then she felt something warm on her throat, almost like something had licked her. And then, a brief sting, and the world faded to dark.  
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny turned to Draco, and gave a small wave. "I'd better be going then. Minnie'll start gossiping if I leave her at Lupin's much longer."  
  
"Right." Draco crossed to join her at the fireplace, and kissed her. She'd anticipated a quick peck on the cheek, a brisk goodbye sort of kiss. That wasn't what she got.  
  
Draco kissed her as if this was the only kiss they'd ever have, as if he intended it to last forever. He kissed as if he hadn't seen her in years, in a lifetime. It was as if he were trying to push everything about the two of them into it, as if he were trying to touch her soul with his.  
  
He pulled away before it went beyond kissing, and rested his forehead against hers for a moment, breathing shallowly. Then he looked into her warm brown eyes with his sharp grey ones, and murmured. "Put it on the other hand, Gin." 


	7. In the Light of the Day

Authors note: Sorry about the delay. I've been busy with school and speech and whatnot. I'll try and be better about getting this updated.  
  
  
  
  
Glin woke to a rather persistent knocking. If she'd possessed the strength, she would have pulled a pillow over her head to drown out the sound. She felt terribly run down, as if she'd just run a hundred miles before dropping into bed.   
  
She threw a glance in the direction of the alarm clock, and gave a start. They were supposed to be looking over yesterday's photos in an hour. She'd better get moving if she didn't want to be late. She sat up, and went to herself on the bed, when her hand encountered a piece of parchment.  
  
"Cara-  
  
You were a bit tipsy from the wine last night, so I put you to bed. You had quite a spill on the way to your bed, and caught the bureau with your head, so take care this morning. Perhaps you've caught a bug? Stay at home today. Carlos and I will iron out any problems on our own.  
  
~Antonio"  
  
That was probably it. She'd gotten the flu then gotten drunk and the results weren't pretty. It's not like it hadn't happened before. She yawned and stretched a bit. Somehow, she never recalled feeling this run down from a simple virus. It was like every muscle in her body had hit the snooze button and her brain was the only thing really awake.  
  
Although, come to think of it, her brain wasn't working all that well either. A for seemed to have taken up residence in her mind, and fighting to get a thought through it exhausted her. A stinging pain in her eyes had her wincing, which only made it worse. Maybe she was dehydrated? God- how much wine had she had last night?  
  
And speaking of heinous overindulgence, who in the hell was making all that racket? Antonio left the note, Carlos had a key, and none of her friends would be so hideously persistent. Except Ron. Who wasn't really her friend, merely an annoyance. Little did he know that her resolve to lounge about in bed was much greater that his ability to thoroughly annoy her. Sighing, she melted back into her bed.  
  
  
  
  
Ron took to knocking with his head. It made a great deal of sense or certainly seemed to after the first few knocks on the noggin. Perhaps the phrase "knock some sense into" was meant to be taken literally.  
  
He rested against the door for a minute, letting his eyes shut. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He'd become rich, and he'd had his choice of women. Sure, Glin was beautiful, but he'd dated beautiful women before. He'd dated a woman who many considered to be the epitome of beauty and he'd gotten bored. So why was he standing on a woman's doorstep? Some woman who up until a few months ago he didn't even like or respect her for that matter.  
  
When he reasoned it out though, it made perfect sense. Because now he liked her, and now her respected her, and damn it, he was in love with her, and she didn't even care. She knew, too. Well, possibly not the love part, but all the rest of it anyway. She had used him, used him for sex, like she used all men. She just hadn't realized who she was dealing with this time. He'd spent a great many years anticipating the days when he could become a successful womanizer. "Ron 'Love 'em and Leave 'em' Weasley," and all that.  
  
He'd really hoped it wouldn't come to this. He'd tried to play the game the way Carlos had suggested, but it just hadn't worked. Picking up the parcel he'd brought with him, he resolved himself to taking drastic measures.  
  
Minutes later he was out in the back alley, unwrapping his package. Placing the broom below him, he threw the invisibility cloak around himself and began his ascent. He was a bit shaky, but he wasn't considering doing any Wronknsi-feints or anything so he wasn't in any grave sort of danger.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Glin heard the knocking again. No, come to think of it, now it was more of a tapping, a sharp clear sound, but faint. The sound was vaguely familiar, but not, as if it were something she'd heard in a movie, but not in real life. It was like... pebbles on a window. Because it required no movement other than the opening of her eyes, she looked at the glass patio doors that made up one side of her room. Things were still a bit fuzzy, but she made out something that looked like Ron riding a broomstick outside her window. A hazy band of black began to obscure things, and she realized her eyes were close again.  
  
  
  
  
  
"Fuck," Ron proclaimed loudly. He'd thought the cutesy throwing-pebbles-at-the-window trick would work. Evidently not, because she'd just gone back to sleep. She hadn't even looked annoyed. It was around One, which meant the maid had probably been and gone. He hovered closer to the window and looked at the woman inside. He'd never watched her sleep, not really. Her hair was longer, considerably so, almost to the small of her back, which was odd, because only a week before it had been chin-length. She must have grown it out magically. She looked fragile like this, vulnerable. And he couldn't help but think that all he wanted in the world was to be the blanket that was so haphazardly twisted around her waist. To hold her in his arms and know that she belonged to him completely. That she trusted him completely. He had to wonder why she wouldn't let him. Was he that fundamentally flawed, that she had to push him away and pick at his feelings, trying to make him angry?  
  
She wasn't pushing anyone away right now though. Not with her whole body laying limp in exhaustion. One ivory hand splayed out on what would have been his back if he were in her bed. Her lips were slightly open and he imagined she was snoring lightly.  
  
He was just over the balcony now, so he hopped off the broom. He knocked softly on the glass doors leading to her bedroom. She didn't even stir. How could she have fallen so deeply in such a little time? He squinted his eyes, and examined her as closely as he could. He took inventory of her skin, pale, almost translucent. Certainly it was a shade whiter than it had been before. Her lips were set in a pout, which was normal, but they looked different. They looked...blue?  
  
"Fuck," Ron said once again. He pumped the door handle but the results were futile. "Good great fuck." It was locked.  
  
  
  
  
Tracy looked down at the book in her hand, and then up at the number plate on the door. She had been standing on the stoop of Lupin's townhouse for a few minutes now, debating whether it was too early to be calling on him. He had said to drop by, but at what hour could one appropriately and casually drop by?  
  
Rolling her eyes, she banged the brass knocker against the door and silently berated herself for behaving like a 14 year old school girl. When there was no answer, she expelled the breath she'd been holding in a huff and went to knock again.  
  
Unfortunately, the door opened at the last second, and she found her hand on the chest of an unfamiliar man.  
  
A naked unfamiliar man.  
  
He was older than her, probably by around ten or fifteen years. Judging by the shaggy black haircut, and the fact that he was standing in Lupin's apartment wearing nothing more than a bathrobe which was disturbingly open up top, she guessed he was most likely Sirius Black.  
  
"Damn."  
  
"As much as I appreciate a good fondling early in the afternoon, 'damn' isn't quite the reaction I was hoping for," he told her, smiling in a rogue-ish sort of way that she supposed women found irresistible.  
  
"It's not that. It's just... I didn't think Lupin was gay."  
  
Sirius arched an eyebrow. "You have designs on Remus, do you?"  
  
Tracy scoffed, and tried to sound nonchalant. "No, nothing like that. I...I...Well, my powers of deduction are usually better." She could tell he wasn't buying it. "Besides, I have more things to worry about than Remus Lupin's sexual orientation. I just came by to drop off a book we found in Malfoy Manor that he was interested in."  
  
"Right," Sirius said, as he gave her a once over. "And you would be...?"  
  
"Knight," she said, shaking his hand firmly. "Tracy Knight. I'm an auror with the American division of the Ministry."  
  
"Sirius Black. Former convict and dashing rogue," he said with another smile.   
  
"I'll try not to hold it against you," she said as she edged into the house. "Where is he?"  
  
"Remus? He's in the loo. Tea?"  
  
"Nah. I don't plan on hanging around all that long," she replied, clearly uncomfortable.  
  
A voice came through a crack in the bathroom door, muffled by the steam. "Padfoot, what have you done with my bathrobe?"  
  
At Tracy's raised eyebrow Sirius explained. "Just a little pet name he has for me. Rather cute isn't it?"  
  
She nodded in a noncommittal sort of way.  
  
Sirius belted out a reply to Lupin's query. "What did you expect me to wear, you pillock?"  
  
Remus emerged from the bathroom. "I don't know. I'd just think you'd have a little more consideration than to leave me nothing but a single towel." Lupin had the single towel wrapped and knotted around his waist, and was drying his hair with a washcloth.  
  
Tracy assured herself that her mouth was still closed. She may have had a goofy, glazed over look in her eyes, but her mouth was closed, and that was a feat in and of itself. That "single towel" was much smaller than anyone could have imagined. Hell, in her opinion, calling it a "hand towel" would have been overly generous. Although, it wasn't the dubious towel that was causing her heart to stop. It was what it wasn't covering. Long legs, muscular, but not too muscular. A torso that was slim, but so slim that it wasn't manly. In fact, from where she was ogling, there wasn't anything about Remus Lupin that suggested anything other than man.   
  
His hair was wet, and looked darker brown than usual, which was probably because of the water. Gray hairs were sprinkled throughout the mane, but he certainly wasn't an old man. He certainly didn't look like one. In fact, the only thing about him that seemed antiquated was the look on his face.  
  
"Bloody hell!" He exclaimed, leaping back inside the safe confines of the bathroom. "Black, why didn't you tell me we had company?"  
  
"You didn't ask." Sirius replied matter-of-factly.  
  
"Get me some clothes, you wanker."  
  
"Just look at the abuse I have to put up with," Sirius said with a wink as he disappeared into the bedroom. He reappeared moments later with a set of neatly folded clothes in his hands, and handed them to Remus through the small crack in the door Lupin had left open.  
  
She should have know Remus was gay. An attractive man who lived alone, yet kept a neat little house. He never dated. It really wasn't that hard to figure out once she had all the facts in front of her. She was pondering her idiocy when Remus stepped out of the bathroom, clothed, and visibly embarrassed. Sirius wasn't far behind, and was pouting.  
  
"Moony has suggested that I take McGonagall back to Ginny's while he entertains you," Sirius said, hanging his head forlornly as he walked into the study. He stage whispered to her as he walked past, "I've been a naughty boy. One can only hope he'll punish me later."  
  
"That is quite enough," Remus barked at him as he shut the door after Sirius. "I'm terribly sorry about that. He has absolutely no sense of proper behavior."  
  
"Well, they say opposites attract," Tracy shrugged.  
  
"Right," Remus said, furrowing his brow in confusion. "You wanted to see me?" Then he blushed, like a school boy. "Although perhaps not that much of me."  
  
She almost told him that she hadn't minded so much, then decided to embarrass herself as little as possible. "Right. It's about the book from Malfoy Manor you were interested in."  
  
"'La Histoire du Loup Garou?' by Bisclavret?" His eyebrows raised in shock. "That isn't it, is it?"  
  
"Yeah. Why so surprised?'  
  
Remus plucked the book gingerly out of her hand, and caressed the cover, releasing a bit of the dust. "It's incredibly rare, and old. The binding isn't just leather. If the rumors are true, this is the hide of one of the werewolves which comprised the Gandillion family. Probably Pernette. She was killed by an angry mob, not burned like the others."  
  
"That is incredibly gross," Tracy said, looking down at her hands.  
  
"It could very well just be part of the legend. After all, there are many rumors about the Gandillions, including the idea that they maintained their true form, even while behaving like beasts."  
  
"So you're saying that could be human?" Tracy asked in horror.  
  
"It's highly unlikely," he assured her.  
  
"Why did you want it anyway?"  
  
"It's never been fully translated. There have been passages quoted here and there, but this, the definitive book on werewolves has never been fully translated. There is one passage in particular that interests me." His tone was apologetic. "You don't mind if I look at this right now, do you?"  
  
"Nah. I'll just show myself out."  
  
"No need," Remus said, walking into the kitchen while thumbing through the text and talking distractedly at her. "It should only take a moment and then we'll have tea. Ginny sent some of those little lime biscuits she makes. They're absolutely delightful."  
  
How had she ever thought he was straight? She followed him into the kitchen, and sat next to him at the little breakfast nook, being careful not to get to close to the curious book.  
  
"Well, I didn't expect it to just leap at me like that," he exclaimed under his breath.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"The last paragraph is about the publication of the book. He says he's bound it with the death shroud of Lycaon."  
  
"Who would be...?"  
  
"The reputed original werewolf. From Greek times. It's complete and utter bullocks, of course. He probably believed it was true though. Or..." He began furiously translating again. "The invention of the typewriter really was beneficial to literature as a whole," he mumbled. "Manuscript is so unreliable... There... The article modifier is too faded to read. It may very well read 'a shourd of Lycon,' rather than 'the shroud of Lycon.'"  
  
"Which would mean...?"  
  
"It would mean that it could very easily mean that it was the shroud of any werewolf, as long as they were under the influence of a lycanthrope potion."  
  
"Lycanthrope potion?"  
  
"It's a salve, reputed to transform someone into a werewolf. Not as much of a curse because it's not permanent like the typical lycanthrope. In fact, it's rather like the animagus spell, only with a set time limit for the transformation. It's rubbed on the body with a strip of the pelt of a wolf."  
  
"That is incredibly disgusting."  
  
"Not exactly legal either. It's pretty far within the realm of the dark arts."  
  
"Is all of that in there?"  
  
"Mhmm... Including a rather basic recipe for the solution. 'Aloe, henbane, hemlock, poppy seeds and solanine.' Luckily amounts aren't given. One would have to experiment for an infinite amount of time to get this right."  
  
"So I take it you'll want to keep it?"  
  
"Could I?" He said, rather taken aback.  
  
"Malfoy doesn't want it back. He said to dump all the harmless stuff in museums. As near as I can tell, you're not too far away from a museum."  
  
"True," he smiled. "At the very least I can assure you Sirius will be amused. He seems to have an inordinate amount of interest in the macabre. I daresay he'll want to read whatever I have translated by the time I he decides to leave."  
  
"Are things bad between the two of you?"  
  
"Things are strained. I haven't heard from him in years, which tends to test the barriers of a friendship."  
  
"Especially when they're as close of friends as the two of you are."  
  
"I suppose you could say that." Remus stood and went to get their tea. "I've already forgiven him. He just doesn't know it yet. Sirius doesn't stay in one place very long, so sometime you have to think about these things rather quickly."  
  
"I suppose that makes things rather difficult with romantic relationships."  
  
"I suppose so." Remus replied rather abruptly. "I really wouldn't know one way or the other. You're sound like you're interested in him."  
  
"No," she told him, laying a hand soothingly on his arm. "I don't lust after other people's boyfriends. You don't have to worry about me trying to steal him away from you. Besides, he's kind of smarmy at times."  
  
Lupin's face blanched. "He told you we were gay?"  
  
"He implied it. I didn't realize you didn't want people to know," she said hurriedly. "I promise not to tell anyone."  
  
"You haven't anything to tell. Sirius has been up to his old tricks. He seems to think his antics are still amusing."  
  
"Oh." She looked down at her watch. "OH!" I'd better be off. Law and I have a meeting in fifteen minutes, and she loathes tardiness."  
  
"Right then." Remus showed her to the door. "I'll let you know how the Loup Garou text turns out."  
  
"Thanks," she said standing in the doorway. "So you're not gay?"  
  
"No, not that I have any objections to those who choose to live their lives in that manner. I'm just a boring, old, heterosexual man."  
  
"Oh. Good."  
  
But before he had a chance to ask what "good" meant, she leaned in and captured his bottom lip between her teeth. This lasted for a moment, before she released her hold on it and put her tongue in his mouth, and pressed her body against his. An eternity later she pulled away and whispered in his ear.  
  
"You're wrong about the old man part." 


	8. Touchatouchatouchatouch me

Author's Note: As always, the majority of the characters belong to J.K.R, Warner Bros. and such. Review, review, review, for I'm feeling unloved and weary lately. Here are some review idea questions: What is up with Antonio/Glin/Ron? What will happen with Remus? Will Charlie ever get any action?  
  
  
  
  
  
Ron shook his arms and tiny shards of glass shimmered down to the floor. He dropped the broom he'd been holding.  
  
Glin looked up at him hopelessly. He wasn't supposed to be here, although she couldn't really remember why. She was angry with him, frustrated, but she had no recollection of the reasoning behind the anger. Whatever was still working of her mind told her that he needed to leave. She opened her mouth to tell him this, but all that came out was "Ron-"  
  
He was beside her now. He moved incredibly quickly, Glin thought. He was smoothing the hair back from her forehead, and his fingers were so cold.  
  
"You're burning up. We've got to get you to a medi-center." He began to take her out of the bed, but she protested.  
  
"S'cold. Stay in bed."  
  
"You have to get up," he said. After a few minutes of arguing with her, he just wrapped the sheets and blankets around her and lifted her into his arms. He jostled her a bit when he performed the disapparation.  
  
The medi-center blurred into reality about them. Babies were crying and people were shouting. A particularly rowdy group of children were running about, and Ron noted absently that they were playing knights and dragons, a game he'd played often as a child. While a great deal of people were swarming about, they didn't seem surprised by his appearance at all, nor did they seem particularly interested in him at all.  
  
"A little help here?" He asked the general population in annoyance.  
  
A woman who was carefully sealing a gash on a child's forearm looked up at him. "If you want help you're certainly not going to get it that way. Go to the admittance window and fill out the paperwork Linda gives you."  
  
"But this is an emergency!"  
  
"And these people aren't having emergencies? Gina waited four hours for someone to look at her arm, and when one of us could finally find a moment to do it, we didn't even have a room to put her in while we healed it. Talk to Linda, and she'll get you set up."  
  
Ron sighed, and turned to walk in the direction the woman had pointed. Glin moaned lightly in his arms as he bumped her foot against a chair, and he clutched her tighter to him. "Are you Linda then?"  
  
"Aye," replied the rather large woman behind the counter without looking up. "Fill out this form completely, and return it to me when you've finished."  
  
Ron decided to go for the charm angle. "Look, Linda, let me level with you. I'm really worried here, I'm not even entirely sure she's conscious. Is there a way that I could do the paperwork while someone made sure she's all right?"  
  
The woman looked up, and adjusted her glasses. "I'm not promising you anything, but if you get that paperwork filled out right quick, I might be able to put a rush on it. That's the best I can do with things as crazy as they are today." With a gentle push, she pointed him in the direction of two open chairs.  
  
Ron filled out the paperwork as quickly as he could, and with as little trouble to Glin as he could manage. With most of the little boxes checked off as "unknown," he handed a winking Linda the pieces of parchment.  
  
"Just wait a bit, Love," she comforted him. "Keep her awake if you can."  
  
Little did Linda realize what a mammoth task this was becoming. Glin would start to drift with less than a moment's notice, and it was all he could do to keep her awake. Finally, after what seemed like hours, but was very likely only a half hour at most, someone called out Glin's name.  
  
A sandy-haired young man placed Glin on a gurney and began to give her a once over with a variety of diagnostic tools. Muttering to himself, "Dr. Jaimeson," as his nameplate stated, began running over possibilities.  
  
"Blood pressure is low. Has this ever happened before?"  
  
"No," Glin replied meekly. "It's probably just a really bad case of the flu."  
  
"That hypothesis would be concurrent with the symptoms," the doctor said, half to himself. "I'll have to run a variety of testing to rule out other possibilities though."  
  
"Do we have to stay for all of that?" Glin whined and clutched at Ron's hand.  
  
"Of course not," Ron soothed. "Do we?"  
  
The doctor looked up absently from Glin's chart. "Definitely not. The lab is horribly backed up, with non-priority blood test results taking around a week..."  
  
"Isn't this a priority?" Ron said, in what he hoped was a menacing tone.  
  
"Not really," the doctor said, obviously not perceiving a threat. "She's right, you know. It's probably just the flu. When combined with her alcohol consumption, it's highly likely she just became severely dehydrated. We'll put a couple bags of fluid into her intravenously to re-hydrate her. If her blood pressure comes back up, you can take her home then."  
  
  
  
  
  
Remus stood in the doorway, absently rubbing his mouth for a few minutes, then turned to go back in the house. Sirius was standing in the foyer, lounging against a wall, watching him, and smiling smugly.  
  
"I take it you and Miss Knight had a great deal of fun chatting about that book?"  
  
"The book?" Remus queried absently before blinking and recovering and looking at the heavy volume in his hand. "Right, yes, the book. It's very fascinating, with all sorts of valuable historical..." He trailed off.  
  
"She kissed you, didn't she?"  
  
"I don't know where you got an idea like that."  
  
Sirius snorted. "I'm rather familiar with the symptoms. The lip-rubbing, the slight blush and flustering at the mention of it and..." He hesitated and grinned. "You liked it didn't you?"  
  
"Preposterous.," Remus scoffed. "Even if she had kissed me and I had liked it, it would be irrelevant. She's far too young for me."  
  
"Women who are too young for you don't show up on your front door in robes that are stylishly too tight, with the top two buttons undone. Besides, she's not too young for me," Sirius argued. "Ergo, she's not too young for you."  
  
"Perhaps I have different standards."  
  
"Perhaps you're afraid of being happy," Sirius countered.  
  
"Perhaps you should bugger off and find somewhere else to stay," Remus sulked.  
  
"You truly are a spoilsport, Moony. Perhaps if I'm lucky she'll force you to have a good time."  
  
"The two of you are entirely too much alike."  
  
  
  
  
When Draco walked out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry. Ginny was right. It was getting a bit long. He thought, perhaps, he'd let her trim it. If worst came to worst, he supposed letting her hack away at the mess wouldn't be entirely detrimental. He could always magically fix things if Ginny wasn't at good with the shears as she professed.  
  
He strolled over to his bureau, and began to shuffle about in the drawers before a voice stopped him.  
  
"I've already laid out stuff on the bed," Ginny said, stopping as she was halfway through the doorway. "I'll get Marigold ready."  
  
"But-" Draco protested, but Ginny cut him off.  
  
"No 'buts.' The three of us will have to be seen in public eventually, and the two of you need new robes, anyway."  
  
"We have robes," Draco argued. "At least, I do. Besides, we could get a tailor to come to the house."  
  
"Your robes are all things your mother picked out for you. You can't honestly tell me you prefer wearing things with ruffles."  
  
He walked to right in front of her and wrapped one of her curls around his index finger and watched it bounce as he released it. "Looking to change me already?"  
  
She rolled her eyes and cupped his cheek in the palm of her hand. "You know that's not it at all. I just don't want you to be afraid of being around people anymore."  
  
"I'm not afraid," he said crossly, while pouting. "I went to your party."  
  
"Because you were mad at me."  
  
"Mad with desire," he teased as he kissed the corner of her mouth. "In fact, I'm feeling particularly mad at the moment." He kissed her, one of those slow, mind-melting kisses.  
  
"Ow!" He yelped as Ginny pulled his head back by his wet mane.  
  
"You're not going to distract me that easily, Draco," she told him, kissing his chin. "Besides, we need to pick out new furniture and stuff for the manor."  
  
"Can't you do that on your own?"  
  
"It's not my house."  
  
"Merely a technicality," he murmured as he tried to distract her a bit more.  
  
She was moments away from untying the knot of black silk at his waist before she remembered herself. "A valiant effort," she whispered huskily in his ear. "But we're still going."  
  
"Drat," he said emphatically.  
  
"If you're good, then maybe after..."  
  
She left him to get dressed, and he crossed to the bed. She'd laid out his clothing neatly on the bed. Simple black robes, charcoal gray slacks, a gray dress shirt and a dull green v-neck sweater. Set to the side were a pair of trolleys, decorated with little winged hearts, charcoal trouser socks, and a green and silver striped tie. He vaguely recalled getting the underwear years before as a gag gift. He'd never actually intended to wear them. And yet, he found himself stepping into them, not so much because underwear was underwear, but because Ginny had picked them out for him.  
  
This almost maternal side of her was something that usually just came out around Marigold. He'd seen glimpses of it during his drunken fiasco, but hadn't recognized it then. It gave him an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach, almost an aching. It wasn't entirely unpleasant.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ash grew from the glowing end of his cigarette, and he flicked it into the cool, night air. He imagined it swirling down to the earth, disintegrating all the while until it was like a rain of gray snow. Absently, he considered quitting. Women these days were beginning to look down on kissing men who tasted of tobacco.  
  
"Signore?" Mario asked nervously.  
  
Antonio whirled about to face him. He looked relaxed, his body leaning lightly on the balcony railing, a cigarette lounging in his hand.  
  
"What is it, Mario?"  
  
Mario fidgeted. The Signore had been edgy ever since he'd been alerted to the Signora's condition. "She is fine. 'Dehydration,' they say."  
  
"Mmm," Antonio replied noncommittally. Mario pressed on.  
  
"I've talked with a few people. They assure me that her blood test results will take at least two weeks to process."  
  
Antonio let go of his power long enough for Mario to be flung against the wall. "You're saying I have two weeks?"  
  
"N-n-np, Signore," Mario managed to force out. "Two weeks for the results. Proper diagnosis is... highly unlikely."  
  
"I don't care for your answers today, Mario, but I'll keep my temper in check." He pushed himself away from the balcony, and let his cigarette stub fly into the night. "If I must finish in two weeks, I will finish in two weeks. I will go to her now."  
  
"Signore... She is staying with a... friend."  
  
Antonio's eyes flashed, the pupil seeming to devour the rest of the eye, then shrinking. "Call Fleur. I wish the distraction to be removed. I'll be out." He followed the cigarette butt off the balcony in a dramatic swoop.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Ron, really, I'm fine. Just tired, they said," Glin argued as she pushed her way out of Ron's bed.. "I'll just rest at my apartment."  
  
They'd been having this argument for awhile now, Glin exhausting herself even more with the effort of it. Ron had evidently already told everyone important of her whereabouts, and seemed to intend to keep her locked up with him like some sort of fairy tale princess in a tower. The mollycoddling had gone on long enough now. She'd suffered through him putting her into a pair of his sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt even though he knew she preferred to sleep nude. She'd suffered through him spooning her chicken soup like she was some sort of invalid, and she'd suffered through him spouting stupid platitudes the whole time. "You need to drink more fluids." "You'll catch your death of cold." "Here comes the train...choo-choo." She'd been nosed beeped, she'd been asked if she'd needed help going to the bathroom, and she was done with it.  
  
"You can't rest there. There are shards of glass all over the place," he countered, pushing her back down until she was seated on the bed.  
  
"I'll call someone to fix it," she said, standing again.  
  
"Why bother when you can just stay here?" He tried to ease her back down.  
  
"Because!" She screamed in exasperation as she beat weak fists against his chest.. "I can't do this anymore, Ron.. Don't you see? I don't want this. I don't want you! I don't want to come home to some person who knows all my little secrets, tawdry or otherwise. I don't want to have people talk about me as if I'm only half a person when I'm without you. I don't want you to be jealous because I'm beautiful for me and not for you. I don't want some sort of thing where I have to be responsible for what you feel and what I feel and what you feel about what I feel. It's crazy, Ron! Can't you see that?"  
  
"Sshh..." Ron murmured, his arms staying tight about her, not even deflecting the ineffectual blows she kept slamming against him. "I know. I know."  
  
"I...I...I just can't. I can't be some silly, stupid girl who is glad that she has someone to take care of her. I have to take care of myself, Ron. I just have to take care of myself." She repeated this over and over, like some sort of a mantra, until it wasn't words any longer, it was just sobs. She was too tired to hit him anymore, so she just rested her head against his chest, letting him rub her back.  
  
He began to ease them both into the bed, and she stiffened and murmured into his chest. "I can't do that with you anymore, Ron. Things get all muddled."  
  
"Not sex, Glin. Just sleep. We both need it," he explained.  
  
"Not together, we don't," she argued.  
  
"I need it together." They were in the bed now, with him spooned behind her, hugging her a bit like a child would hold a stuffed animal. She felt a warm wetness on her neck. He was crying. "You gave me quite the scare earlier."  
  
"I'm fine. I'd be fine if I could just go-" She couldn't finish because he cut her off.  
  
"Please, just for awhile, pretend that you care that I'm not fine." It was his body that was stiff now.  
  
It wasn't fair of him, to call her unfeeling. Not when she was so very tired and cold, and his warm presence was lulling her into a deep, comfortable sleep. Certainly not when he'd broken a window for her. Not when he'd been crying.  
  
She rolled over to face him, and tucked her head beneath his chin, her nose finding the warm place on his chest where it seemed to fit perfectly. She placed her hand into his slightly larger one and sighed. "I'm sorry."  
  
His body relaxed into hers as he pressed a kiss to her hairline, and they both drifted in the warm cocoon of each others arms. 


	9. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

"Remus, it's the least I can do," Sirius wheedled. "Let me do this for you."  
  
"How is this for me?" Remus almost growled. "It's an inconvenience, and it's at the wrong time of the month anyway, Sirius. It could be dangerous."  
  
"You over-estimate your wolfy prowess, Moony." Sirius plucked an orange from the fruit bowl on the table and began to play with it. "Besides, you're the one who whines all day long about being lonely. I'm just making attempts to socialize you like any good friend would do."  
  
"I don't want to be socialized," Remus bit back. "It'll be awkward. Everyone will be younger than me and part of a couple."  
  
"McGonagall's older than us," Sirius pointed out. "And Charlie, myself and Ginny's secretary are single, not to mention the lovely Miss Knight..."  
  
:"Shut it, Black," Remus warned. "I'm not as good-natured as I used to be."  
  
"Pish-posh. 'Used to be ' implies that at one time you were good-natured. Obviously you misspoke." Sirius picked up another orange and began to juggle them. "Besides, it's all taken care of. All you have to do is cook."  
  
"I have to cook? You invite friends into my home without my permission, and I'm to cook for them?"  
  
"You could always get take-away," Sirius offered.  
  
Remus grimaced. "You don't invite people over for a dinner party and then serve take-away. It's tacky."  
  
"So you fry up a few steaks-"  
  
"Grill, Padfoot. You grill steaks, not fry," Lupin sighed. "So when is this all going to happen?"  
  
"Six-ish."  
  
"Tonight? You invited them over for tonight? Are you absolutely mad?"  
  
"Probably," Sirius smirked. "I also knew that if I gave you any more notice than this you'd cancel it."  
  
"You're damn right I would," Remus said, throwing an angry glance in Black's direction as he stalked into the entryway to get his coat.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tracy walked in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner through the swinging, oak door and into the kitchen. She tried to keep any sign of desperation out of her voice. She had coached herself beforehand. Things were to be light, and airy, and as non-oppressive as possible. She had to back off or he was going to back off and then things would be...not good. Not good was really the way to describe it. "Need any help in here?"  
  
Evidently with all the work she'd spent on being non-threatening, she'd forgotten to try not to scare him. He yelped and dropped the knife he'd been chopping onions with.  
  
Tracy began back-pedaling. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bother you, I just thought that...Well, I thought maybe you'd want company and Sirius said you might need help and I just... Well, I really didn't mean to interfere, I just..."  
  
She trailed off as Lupin's face slowly came into view, his brow deeply furrowed and his eyes cautious. "You weren't bothering me. You just startled me and I cut my thumb."  
  
"Oh gods! Is it serious?" She crossed the distance between them and took his thumb in her hand, leaving his fingers free to curl around the back of her hand.  
  
Remus tried to keep from shuddering at the little gasp she had made, and at the feel of her soft hand in his. He had been right to protest earlier. This was precisedly the time of the month when he was the most irritable.  
  
A few days before the full moon, a werewolf's senses became almost painfully sharp. She hadn't startled him at all. He'd smelled her before she'd even pushed the door open. She'd put attar of roses on her pressure points, probably to tempt him further. It had been foolhardy of her.  
  
"D'you want me to kiss it and make it better?" She asked, feigning innocence.  
  
He fought back the part of him that was straining to get out and extricated his hand from hers. "I've got to finish dinner."  
  
She uttered a sound of disgust and exasperation and stormed back into the dining room. Remus stuck his thumb under the sink faucet and ran cold water over it. The cold water wasn't exactly helpful, as it was an entirely different part of his body that could certainly use a cold shower. The thumb wasn't exactly an innocent party, though. Even his hands had betrayed him, with images flitting through his brain of fisting his hands in her soft, silky hair and taking everything she'd offered him and more.  
  
Which would have been entirely inappropriate at a dinner party, in any case.  
  
  
  
  
  
Dinner was interesting to say the least. Ron and Glin were both practically silent, not dominating the conversation with little digs at one another. Though Glin had stayed at his apartment the night before, nothing had been resolved, and things were still fairly awkward. Ron looked sullen and a bit run down. Glin did too, which was considerably out of the ordinary. Usually, Glin didn't answer the door unless she looked perfect. Tonight, she hadn't even bothered to put on make-up. Bags showed beneath her eyes and she was pale.  
  
Ginny and Draco had returned from a second day of furniture shopping,, and both of them were positively glowing. Shopping had gone fairly well for them, with a minimum of stares and rudeness following them about Diagon Alley.  
  
Hermione looked frazzled, with the wedding plans quickly claiming every bit of her free time. Harry wasn't much better. The World Cup was a little over a year away, but training for the tournament had been grueling lately. Another stray bludger had caught him, and his eye still showed a slight bruise.  
  
Minnie was her usual, observant self, making endless comments about the lives of pretty much anyone around. Charlie, Tracy, Sadie, Remus and Sirius were too tormented and single for her taste. Ginny and Draco were too sappy for people who weren't even engaged. Glin and Ron should stop sulking. Harry and Hermione were free from her criticisms, most likely because they were too tired to respond to any of her little barbs.   
  
After dinner, they retired to Remus's small living room, and gathered about the fireplace, drinking hot butter beer. Everyone had noticed how run down Glin was looking, but she'd refused to end this evening early. Sitting on the couch had quickly become laying on the couch had quickly become laying on the couch with her head propped on Ron's lap. He seemed pretty happy about her willingness to lean on him, regardless of the make-up smudges on his pants. He and Charlie were less than elated with their sister's behavior. She'd started out perched on the arm of the wing-backed chair Draco was sitting in. Predictably, she'd ended up sitting sideways on his lap with her head laying on his shoulder. Her hand was interlaced companionably with his Charlie and Sadie were sitting on the loveseat, looking slightly uncomfortable.  
  
Harry and Hermione had left immediately after dinner, citing exhaustion and early morning engagements. McGonagall was content to stretch out in front of the fireplace with Sirius, purring happily as he stroked her back.  
  
Eventually, they began to make excuses and Remus went into the kitchen to start on the dishes. Remus was around halfway finished when the kitchen door swun open. He knew immediately who it was. His hand stilled on the plate he was soaping.  
  
"The rest have gone?"  
  
"Yup," she pushed herself up onto the island in the middle of the kitchen and got comfortable.  
  
"Where's Sirius?"  
  
"Draco's invited him to stay in the one of his guest rooms. It appears he's tossed you over for a bed of his own." Tracy hopped down from the counter, and lightly trailed a hand across his shoulders before leaning in close to his ear to whisper. "He must be crazy."  
  
Remus snarled at her and turned halfway before thinking better of it. "I'm not going to lay a finger on you,, no matter how much you tempt me. Now go home."  
  
She took his shoulders in her hands, felt the already knotted muscles tesnse and bunch beneath her hand, and then pulled him around to face her. He was scowling at her and she wrinkled her nose. "You're absolutely wrong. I wouldn't want you to touch me. Your hands are all gross from the dishes still." She closed the distance between them and smiled up at his grimace. "So just remember to keep your hands off my."  
  
It began much like their first kiss had. His mouth was frowning this time, though, and she made it her goal to feel his mouth curve into a smile next to hers. He wasn't being responsive at all, though, and she knew he was holding back, could feel that tension in him begging to be released, vibrating just below the surface. In one effort to loosen things up a bit, she began to tunnel her fingers through his hair. She'd wanted to do that for awhile now, to just dive her fingers into the soft, shaggy silk of it. He growled a bit and twisted his hands into the dish towel he'd been holding, but still didn't give in. Finally, she decided to just go for broke, and slipped a hand to the buttons at his neck. When she'd flicked three of them open, she took her mouth from his and licked the little hollow of his neck.  
  
As it turned out, that was the straw that broke the camel's back. Before she knew what had happened, she was trapped between the counter and his body. His mouth biting and lickiung and doing the most marvelous things. She kissed back with equal fervor, and fairly quickly felt as if she would spontaneously combust.  
  
Remus was making little snarling noises, as if the wolf had completely taken over his psyche. He placed little biting kisses all the way down to her shoulder. She moaned then, and he growled before coming back up to her mouth the devour her.  
  
Making a small noise of pleasure in the back of her throat, she hitched a leg up around his back. He took the initiative to lift her to sit on the counter in one fluid motion as her other leg lifted to join its twin.  
  
After a few minutes, Remus began to feel Tracy's hands pushing against the wall of his chest. He pulled back, his eyes dark and dazed as she murmured something .  
  
"Come again?"  
  
"I said 'there's a fruit bowl in my back." She panted.  
  
He blinked a few times and assessed the current situation. He was pressed against her fully, and she was reclined slightly. Indeed, there was a fruit bowl pressing into the small of her back. "Oh dear...I'm so...right then." He backed away from her.  
  
"There's no reason to be awkward and apologetic about it, Remus. I wanted it. If anyone seduced anyone, it was me. If the fruit bowl hadn't been there-"  
  
"Then we're bloody well lucky that it was," he finished. "Be realistic. You know a relationship between the two of us would never work. You're much younger than me, and I'm not exactly the ideal companion..."  
  
"Because of the werewolf thing?" She asked in confusion. "Everyone has problems, Remus."  
  
"My problem is tat once a month I become a snarling, mindless beast."  
  
"This begs for a joke about PMS."  
  
"This is serious," Remus scowled.  
  
"Not as much as you might think," Tracy told him in a sober tone. When he rolled his eyes she put her hands on the sides of his face. "I'm not walking into this blindly, Remus. I've studied werewolves extensively. If you take your potion, you're fine, relatively speaking."  
  
"But-"  
  
"You're not that much older than me. I'll admit it, Remus. I'm not as young as I look. But even if I were, it wouldn't be a factor. It shouldn't be a factor."  
  
"People will talk," he offered mulishly.  
  
"I'm not exactly someone who cares about bullshit like that."  
  
"I'm a very private man, Tracy."   
  
"I'm not going to be reasoned out of this. I think we should try it for a month."  
  
"'It?'"  
"A relationship. Starting now." She linked her hands behind his neck and pulled him closer.  
  
Rather disappointingly for Tracy and the rest of us, Remus pulled back. "I'm not going to be sociable for around a week. The full moon is tomorrow. I'm usually pretty tired afterwards."  
  
"I think it'd be better for us to conquer the wolf early on rather than waiting with it hanging over our heads for a whole month."  
  
"All right then," Remus said, feeling removed from the situation. "What do we do?"  
  
"Oh, I have a few ideas," Tracy said, wrapping her legs around his waist again and leaning in to bit his earlobe.  
  
Remus pushed her away again. "That's not what I meant and you know it," he grimaced.  
  
"Oh, all right, you big spoilsport." She said, hopping off the counter and tousling his hair. "I suppose we date- spend time around one another, that sort of thing." She summoned her purse from the foyer and pupller out her day planner.  
  
Following suit, Remus pulled the wall calendar down.  
  
Tracy hummed while flipping through the pages. "How's tomorrow night for dinner?"  
  
"No good- I'm turning into a wolf, remember?"  
  
"That doesn't mean we can't hang out We could get dinner early, talk for awhile, then you could turn into a wolf and I could hang out and read a book or something. Wouldn't it be nicer if there were someone around to make sure you had enough water and whatnot? It really could be a nice bonding experience."  
  
He looked up from the calendar. "Tracy, the transformation is...unpleasant to watch."  
  
"If I sat through 'Titanic' I can bear pretty much anything." He stiffened so she walked to him and kissed his forehead. "If I see it, it'll help me understand."  
  
The corners of his mouth were still pressed in tight little lines, but he reluctantly assented.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A bed can be a rather lonely place if there are two people in it who are both ignoring something. It only served to further complicate the issue that Harry and Hermione were both dead set on meddling in each other's affairs.  
  
"Why not let me-"  
  
"It's no use. There'll just be another bruise tomorrow, most likely more."  
  
"But Harry, your ribs look like a kaleidoscope, not to mention your face!" The lights were out, but Harry could imagine the way her brow was all scrunched up in worry. She turned on her side to face him, and he flinched at the movement of the bed. "Why do you put yourself through it when it's entirely unnecessary?"  
  
"It's necessary. I can't very well win a game if I can't deal with a few nicks and scratches. I need to learn to transcend pain."  
  
"That's all well and good, but getting bludgeoned to death isn't probably the best mind over matter technique."  
  
"It should build up my tolerance. You did something like it when you went through auror training."  
  
"I hardly think a comparison can be made," she said, condescension dripping from her words.  
  
"You needn't scoff at me."  
  
"Forgive me if I think there is a great deal of difference between a carefully orchestrated training regimen and people attempting to knock you unconscious. I'm sure your very sophisticated theory of battering your entire body will work spectacularly."  
  
She threw off the bed clothes and stomped out of the room, letting in Crookshanks who had been waiting at the closed door as he did most nights. The cat leapt onto the bed, and curled into the warm space Hermione's body had left behind.  
  
A few minutes later, she was back. Harry heard the sound of something being set on the bedside table as Hermione chided the cat. "You know Harry doesn't like you in here at night." The cat meowed in protest as she placed it on the ground. "All right then, but just this once." The cat happily hopped back on the bed and curled on the foot of the bed.  
  
Harry felt Hermione slide in beside him, and then the sound of her picking up whatever she'd set down on the table. Her hand snaked its way under the covers and rested, palm down, on his sternum. A cool gel was coating her hand, and as it touched his flesh he hissed.  
  
"I thought I told you-"  
  
"That you were dead set on beating the hell out of yourself. I'm not going to sit here and do nothing, not when I know that you're in this much pain. How can I?"  
  
Harry wisely stopped his protests as Hermione's hand rested lightly on his chest, replacing the aches with little tingles. The hand moved up to his cheek, and he felt his headache begin to dissipate. They laid like that for a short while before Harry shifted them both and tucked her head beneath his chin. "I'm sorry."  
  
"I told you that before this was over you'd probably hate me," she said, her voice quavering just a little.  
  
"I don't hate you," he reassured her.   
  
"I can't imagine why not. I nag at you over the silliest little things. Ribbon color and china patterns. I just get so frustrated with everything and I take it out on you."  
  
"What can I say? I'm an easy target." He joked. "I'm not that eleven year old with the taped up glasses and bruised heart. I can take it."  
  
"I forget sometimes that you aren't," she admitted. "I still see you locked in that little cupboard sometimes."  
  
"I still feel like I'm in there sometimes. After a long day of practice, when I feel too tired to move one way or the other, I'll just stand there for a minute, wondering what I'm going home for. Then I remembers, I've got much more to return to than a closet and people who care for me out of familial obligation. I've got so much."  
  
"You deserve more than a fiance who nags all the time and a cat you hate."  
  
"A fiance who I love and I cat I have come to an understanding with," he corrected.  
  
"You and Crookshanks?" She said in disbelief. "What's the understanding?"  
  
"He stops gunking up my shoes, and I don't kick him when I find hair on my sofa."  
  
"Harry!" She said scandalized. "You never kicked him, did you?"  
  
"It was a joke." 


	10. Renovations

Authors note: Standard disclaimer, characters belong to J.K.R and WB and all that jazz. Sorry it took so very, very long for this chapter to get out. I've been suffering from partial writers block, and I haven't been feeling terribly well on top of that. Hopefully my adoring fans will be particularly and specifically adoring (reviews, hint, hint.) For questions, comments, and fawning (if you draw me pictures and upload them) go to the e-group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/WAiSaD  
Special thanks to Tracy and Amy who've stuck with me through all of this. You guys are the greatest.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Redecorating is something complex and intricate, and Draco hadn't quite realized the magnitude of the endeavor he'd unwittingly stumbled into. For awhile, he followed Ginny around, murmuring in agreement or disagreement depending upon the tone of her voice. At the moment, they were in the master bedroom. While Draco would have preferred to stay in his own room, together they had decided that they would move his belongings to the master bedroom. There were a variety of reasons for doing this, but the most important seemed to be that it was bigger, and would be more appropriate for a couple.  
  
Glin was there, too, wrapped up in brown robes lined with chenille. She had abandoned her shoes somewhere in the vicinity of the front door, and now presented a rather odd picture. She was reclining on a little, cream velvet, fainting couch (one of the few items she'd insisted they keep.) An old quilt, that Draco hadn't even known he owned, was twisted around her body. Sticking out over the end of the couch were her feet, covered in men's athletic socks with the name "Ron" faintly written on the sole in faded, black marker. She was gesturing elegantly with a champagne flute filled with orange juice. Most perplexingly of all, she was wearing a weird, little, turban-like cap.  
  
"Take down the drapes," Glin ordered. "They're too..." here she gestured grandly, probably for effect, almost spilling her juice. "Oh, I don't know, 'funeral home 1887.'"  
  
"She's right," Ginny said, and Draco saw where this was going. With a wave of his wand, the drapes fell off the hooks, releasing clouds of dust. Ginny sneezed, and Draco found himself thinking that she even did that in an endearing fashion.  
  
"I'm thinking light colors," Glin said. "Light colors are all the rage."  
  
"You're right," Ginny told her, picturing the things Glin was suggesting. "Breezy, filmy curtains, white, dove gray and a pale champagne."  
  
"That way you can have both silver and gold accent pieces," Glin remarked. "Yes, that's definitely the way to go."  
  
"What kind of bed?"  
  
Both women turned to Draco, and looked at him wide-eyed. Ginny was surprised that Draco was voicing an opinion. Glin, on the other hand, was surprised that he was still in the room. "You're still here? There isn't anything really that wrong with the one that's here. It's a beautiful antique."  
  
"No." Draco's cheeks flushed and he wouldn't look at either of them. "We just need a new bed."  
  
"It's really not-" Ginny chirped, only to be cut off.  
  
"I won't sleep in that bed. End of discussion." He told her, walking from the room.  
  
"He's certainly opinionated," Glin remarked.  
  
"He already felt weird about staying in here," Ginny reasoned. "It's not even my house. I should stop pushing him."  
  
Draining the rest of her juice, Glin gave her a disbelieving look. "Whenever a woman is spending any time in a man's home whatsoever, it becomes at least partially hers."  
  
"Like common law dating?" Ginny seemed skeptical. "You've actually tried this?"  
  
"I imagine it would work if I were ever required to implement it." At Ginny's perplexed glance, Glin further explained. "Darling, I am what is known as a 'serial single.' I date well and I date often, but rarely, if ever, do I entangle myself with a man emotionally. Translation? Glin doesn't do serious relationships. Serious flirting? Yes. Serious fucking? You bet your ass. Serious relationship? Never."  
  
"What if the man feels differently?" Ginny asked, before brushing an invisible speck of dust off her shoulder.  
  
"They know or they quickly learn and that's exactly how I like it. There's no use mucking up perfectly good sex with feelings and wants and desires and suddenly I get the feeling we're not speaking hypothetically." Glin grimaced. "We decided we weren't going to do any of that relationship nonsense from the get go. It's not my fault he deviated from the master plan."  
  
"You're just being so cold about the whole thing," Ginny remarked.  
  
"It's much better to be cold than to run around being plagued by bouts of irrationality all day long. Speaking of running around, I'll have to do some if I want to get to my lunch with Tonio on time." She stretched, then walked over to the fireplace. Glancing back at Ginny's troubled face, she spoke. "Ron's a big boy. He can take care of himself. And if he can't, he's got you all to do it for him, right?"  
  
Ginny couldn't help but think that Glin's voice had gotten a little wistful at the end. Perhaps she wasn't so heartless as she wanted people to think.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A very loud buzzing interrupted a very interesting dream Remus was having about running through the forest after... something. He hadn't really had the chance to find out, because of the damned alarm. Glaring at it, he noticed that the infernal racket was not coming from it, as it registered the time as 7:30AM. It was the door.   
  
He pulled a pillow over his head and bellowed into it. Maybe the annoying bell ringer would just sod off on their own. Pulling the pillow off his head, he sighed. It wasn't very bloody likely that a person who would just hold the doorbell down rather than pressing it once was just going to go away. Even if they did, he'd still be left with an impossible headache.   
  
Growling, he untangled himself from the bedclothes and ran a hand through his hair as he went to answer the door. Yanking it open, he barked. "What in bloody hell is this all about?"  
  
Tracy responded by rolling her eyes and pushing past him into the house. He imagined she would have said something pithy, but she had a very large doughnut in her mouth. She pushed one of the coffees into his chest and he grabbed at it. She plucked the pastry out of her mouth, and took a good look at him.  
  
"Love the outfit." Her voice was a little husky, as if she hadn't been up very long either. Blinking blearily, he looked down to see what he'd pulled on in the way of pajamas last night... and blushed. As was common when the moon was high and full, he'd been feeling restless, and had foregone a shirt completely. As if that wasn't enough, his twisting and turning had tugged his flannel pants down until they were low-slung and riding on his hips. He turned to go pull something else on but Tracy stopped him.  
  
"Hold the other coffee, will you?"  
  
Bewilderedly, he did. She took the opportunity to kiss him thoroughly, and he tasted the chocolate sprinkles that had been liberally sprinkled over her breakfast. Pulling away she winked at him and took a swig of the coffee she retrieved from his hand. "The best part of waking up and all that."  
  
He stood there for awhile, rather confused as to what exactly was going on before she pushed a gym bag into his hand. "We're playing racquetball today. It'll be good for your cramps."  
  
"Muggle racquetball?"  
  
She smirked. "Generally the term 'racquetball' is sufficient. You've heard of it?"  
  
"Sirius used to make me play with him." At her feigned look of being scandalized, he rolled his eyes. "After the introduction he gave himself, everything I say about him is going to land us in the land of double entendre, isn't it?"  
  
"Actually, I can turn pretty much anything into a double entendre, regardless of whether Sirius is involved. Did you hear the one about the woman who went into a bar and asked the man behind the bar for a double entendre?"  
  
"I shudder at the thought of the punch line," he said as he meandered into the bathroom to change into the clothing in the bag.  
  
"He gave it to her."  
  
Remus groaned. "It's too early in the morning for bad jokes. It's too early in the morning for lots of things."  
  
"Oh, I don't know about that," Tracy called to him. Wandering over to the fireplace, she began to look at the photographs assembled there. "I can think of plenty of things to do at this time of the morning. Strenuous exercise, for one."  
  
"Lounging in bed, for another," Remus grumbled.  
  
"I'm kind of partial to combining the two," she replied absently. Wow. She hadn't even thought of that before it had come out of her mouth. She returned her attention to the mantle. There was a picture of Harry and Hermione, presumably an engagement photo, since it seemed rather recent. One of Harry's lanky arms was wrapped around Hermione's waist in a pose she'd seen loads of couples in over the years. There was nothing trite about the smiles on their faces, though. The little Hermione snuggled into Harry's embrace with an air of familiarity that made the viewer feel comfortable. Physically, they were a stunning couple. Both were lean and muscled, not so much that muscle conditioning was a preoccupation for both, but enough that you knew their careers were very physical.  
  
Hermione's hair was pulled back in a French Braid, as usual. Her eyes were a rich, chocolate brown, with little flecks of gold that were brought out by her ginger-colored hair. Harry's attractiveness was more extreme. His hair was still as black as the day he was born, shining a sort of light gray in the glare of the camera flash. As per usual, his hair was just a little bit too long, which was perfectly Harry. His green eyes were flashing, as it appeared all green eyes did in photographs. She wondered absently if hers did.  
  
Moving on to the next, a wedding photo in a silver frame. A man, who looked vaguely familiar, was smiling triumphantly while standing next to a pretty woman with red hair and green eyes. Remus and Sirius were beaming as well, and standing so that they flanked the couple. All four of them looked impossibly young. It must have been almost immediately after they'd graduated from Hogwarts. She pulled it down and wiped a bit of dust off little Remus's shoulder. He ducked away a bit from her finger and she smiled.  
  
Slightly behind the others, and a little dusty was a photograph in a dark wood frame. It was of four young men who were walking off a quidditch field. They weren't in any sort of uniform, so Tracy imagined it must have been a pick-up game of sorts. The one with shaggy, black hair who bore a startling resemblance to Harry had his arm looped over a younger Remus's shoulders and was beaming. Sirius was rolling his eyes and glaring at his partner, a chubby little boy who seemed very ashamed of what Tracy assumed had been a poor showing on the field.  
  
A squeaking noise alerted Tracy to the fact that Remus was emerging from the bathroom. "Nice pictures. It makes things homey."  
  
After looking in her direction, he crossed the room to see what she was looking at, and immediately tensed up. "I didn't realize that was there any longer. It was a long time ago. We were so young then. None of us even suspected that Peter would betray us... may already have been betraying..." He trailed off and avoided her gaze and his body became even more rigid. "I don't know why I'm explaining this to you. You know all about me. You probably you more about me than I do-"  
  
"Remus." She cut him off. "Before you say something that pisses me off, I think I'd better tell you that I haven't checked out your background. One of the other people on the team checked you out and submitted her findings to Law. I've been interested for you in awhile, which is why I haven't checked into your background. It would have given me an unfair advantage."  
  
"But you knew about my being a werewolf without my telling you," he countered.  
  
"There are certain things I can't change about myself. One is that I am trained to notice a great deal. I can try not to draw conclusions about the observations I make, but there are times when the evidence that presents itself is unmistakable. I studied werewolves when I was in college at Salem. Some sort of morbid curiosity or something. With that kind of background, Remus, I suspected you were a werewolf the first time I saw you. You don't exactly hide it."  
  
"Really?" Remus looked worried and his brow began to furrow.  
  
"It's not a bad thing. Better to leave it out in the open than to lock it up like a skeleton in the closet. Incidentally, did you know that when we cleaned out the house of Creepy Mrs. Smith in Aurora, we actually found fifteen skeletons in the closet?" She laughed. "Isn't that horribly cliche?"  
  
Creepy Mrs. Smith was an old woman who had been reported repeatedly to the muggle authorities for odd noises and general creepiness. Everyone in the small town of Aurora, Maine had figured that she was just the weird old woman that lived in every small community. Around twelve years ago, however, it had been discovered that she was actually a very old and very powerful dark witch.  
  
Oddly enough, of the people found tortured in her home, none of them were the children who had dared to trick or treat there. Apparently she'd found the muggle children and their little stories about her to be rather endearing. She'd even begun to give out treats a few years before they'd caught her.   
  
While the Cockroach Clusters and Fudge Flies had caused a great deal of whispering amongst neighborhood parents, it had probably been the rather innocent Pepper Imps that had sent flags up with local authorities. Containment within a town, even if that town was rather small, was quite a chore. It had taken quite a bit of magiking to get an entire community of parents to forget the image of their children breathing fire over the dinner table.  
  
"You were involved in the Mrs. Smith case?" Remus said with a faint air of awe in his voice.  
  
"It was my first case when I came out of the academy," she said with a blush. "I really didn't do all that much besides follow the primary officer around for awhile."  
  
"Ah." Remus said. "Well, I imagine that you've scheduled somewhere for us to play, so I suppose you'd better get changed."  
  
"Right." She unzipped her robes, making Remus's mouth go a little dry, until he realized she was wearing a baggy, light blue sweatshirt over a pair of skin-tight, black shorts. On her feet were matching blue sneakers that matched the ensemble. Smiling in satisfaction, she told him, "I really just wore the robes over my clothes to get you to make the whole 'disbelieving guy' face. I really like it when stuff works out exactly as I planned."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tracy and Remus were wisely given one of the windowless courts at the gym. "Jet," as it was called, was a highly exclusive recreation center, and granted their customers a certain amount of privacy without question. Captains of industry, movie stars and other assorted headliners found the convenience optimal for sweating, regardless of whether the cause was a merger, buyout or good, old-fashioned, physical exertion.  
  
Tracy pulled the door shut, and bounced one of the blue rubber balls at Remus. "Might as well run drills first. I haven't played in awhile and I imagine that you're more than rusty. I'd say we start drilling shorts to the sidewall, then longs to the front, then power and lob serves. Acceptable?"  
  
"That's fine," Remus said, bouncing the ball a few times. He noticed that while they drilled, Tracy seemed very good at keeping the ball under control. She hadn't spent as much time away from the game as she'd implied.  
  
"Ready? I'll serve, if you don't mind."  
  
"Not a problem."  
  
"So, how do you want this?"  
  
"Well," he reasoned. "I'd imagine I'd hit the ball, then you'd follow suit..."  
  
"Behaving like a smart-ass is very unbecoming, Remus," Tracy cautioned. "What're your rules about interferences?"  
  
"Get out of the way or get whacked." At least that's what Sirius had always played.  
  
She flashed a smile that he could easily identify as predatory and assumed her position in the service box. "Zeroes."  
  
He heard a vague whooshing noise as the ball socked him in the stomach.  
  
"My point?" She shot him an innocent look.  
  
It quickly became apparent that playing with Sirius twenty years ago was nothing like playing with Tracy today. While he usually managed to get out of her way, she caught him at least twice with her racket. He didn't care to keep track of the amount of times he was tagged by the ball. She was quicker, but he was more powerful. It would have very nearly been evenly matched if she hadn't been trying to distract him. When she began to sweat profusely, she pulled her sweatshirt over her head to reveal a black sports bra that showed a promising amount of cleavage. Especially when she bent to return some of the lower shots.  
  
"Time out!" He finally panted. "Surrender. 'Stop' in whatever language sadists like yourself prefer."  
  
Tracy turned around from where she'd been about to drop the ball and frowned. She was looking entirely too perky, he decided. Her eyes were bright and awake, as if she hadn't gotten out of bed at some ungodly hour of the morning. Sweat was trickling down her face and dampening her hairline, and her cheeks were flushed. Yet, she kept bouncing back and forth on the balls of her feet, her ponytail swinging jauntily, and looking as if she were having a great time. "You're tired already?"  
  
"What on earth are you? Some sort of human-rabbit hybrid?"  
  
"No, but there's plenty of bunny in me, if you know what I mean." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively for effect. "But we can quit if you want. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve."  
  
He groaned and moved to help her pack up their equipment. They tramped upstairs to the desk where they had checked in earlier. A muscle-bound oaf, whose nametag actually sported the cliche "Hans," handed Tracy a little key ring with the gruff words "number 14."  
  
During the walk to "number 14," Remus had a great deal of time to ponder what exactly "number 14" meant. Was it another competitive area where Tracy would pummel him brutally, yet again? Was it some sort of gym equipment, which would tax his nearly broken body? Was it...  
  
The contemplation halted as they stopped. Tracy unlocked the first of two doors under a large "14," sign, and pushed him inside. She threw a pair of shorts from the gym bag at him before the door swung shut. "Put these on, then come out the other door."  
  
Once inside the little room, he could ascertain that it was a restroom. There was a nice little shower that he took quick advantage of. He imagined that Tracy didn't like to be kept waiting, so he scrambled into the shorts and exited out the door she'd indicated.  
  
He emerged into a small room with a large tub in the center. It was the size of a large horse tank. Not really big enough to swim in, but a little too large for just bathing. One glance at Tracy proved that they were doing something in the water, he just wasn't sure what. She was wearing a one-piece black swimsuit, not deliberately provocative, but certainly not matronly either.  
  
"Ever been in a hot tub before?"  
  
Right. He'd heard of those. Heard quite a bit actually, but it was all from Sirius and usually those descriptions were heavy on blondes and light on setting details. "Not much, really."  
  
"Right. Well, it's really simple. You just sit in it awhile. It's good for cramps."  
  
While he was maneuvering himself into the water, he queried. "Exactly how do you know all this about cramps? I know you studied, but it usually isn't all that in depth when it comes to dealing with more than the most clinical aspects of the change."  
  
"Let's just say I've suffered from similar experiences."  
  
"Like what?" Remus asked curiously.  
  
"Menstrual cramps, Lupin." She barked. "Get with the program. And before you blunder into a hideous and embarrassing mistake, yes, I'm currently having them."  
  
"Oh."  
  
Tracy pushed a button on the side of the tank, and the thing began to bubble. Remus began to flounder about, bewildered and more than a little frightened. "Tracy- eep! - something has malfunctioned - oh dear..."  
  
"Cool it, Shecky. That's what it's supposed to do." She eased herself into the tub.  
  
"Shecky?"  
  
"Muggle comedian. Slapstick. Not terribly funny, in my opinion."  
  
"Right."  
  
They sat for a few moments in silence before Tracy spoke up. "You can't think of anything but the period thing, can you?"  
  
He averted his gaze. "Not really."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Ginny took all the notes she had down to Draco's office. He was sitting in his chair, brooding as she'd suspected. "I think we're pretty much done, planning wise."  
  
"Huh." He grunted, but didn't take his eyes off the paper in front of him.  
  
"Glin's left. She says she's over Ron, but she just looks so sad. She's not being honest with herself, I think."  
  
"Hrm." Another noncommittal noise.  
  
"I'm running off to the moors of Scotland with Aidan: a lad long in arm but short of kilt..."  
  
"Umn." He monosyllabized.  
  
Rolling her eyes, Ginny walked around to behind the desk chair. Sliding her hands down the leather upholstery until they met his shoulders, she began to knead the muscles there. "You're awfully tense, Draco. You're working much too hard."  
  
"It needs to get done," he said in a voice he intended to be gruff. In reality, he almost purred. He hadn't had a backrub from Ginny since before the accident. He'd been afraid to ask, because he'd been worried about her being weak.  
  
She leaned down so that every word she spoke brushed against the shell of his ear. "After we go shopping, how about I stay over and give you a nice, long massage?"  
  
"Shopping?" He crooked and eyebrow in suspicion.  
  
"You need tons of new things. Curtains, furniture, linens, a bed..."  
  
A feline voice came from the doorway. "Planning on breaking it in together?"  
  
Sirius chuckled. "Minerva and I have returned from our walk"  
  
Draco mumbled something practically unintelligible, save for the phrase "bloody cat."  
  
Ginny giggled. "Draco and I need to go to Diagon Alley. Can the two of you behave yourselves if we leave Marigold with you?"  
  
"Black and I get along just fine. It's the rest of you that seem to be stirring up arguments all the time."  
  
"Can you really watch Marigold for over two hours without using lewd language or comments around her?" Draco was skeptical.  
  
"I raised the lot of you at Hogwarts and you never heard a 'bollocks' or a 'bloody,' now did you?" Minnie raised a paw and began to clean her face nonchalantly.  
  
"Right." Ginny and Draco said in chorus.  
  
  
  
  
  
Harry was looking at a great mass of green and pink tacks in what appeared to be a mere bulletin board, but Hermione assured him was "the master seating plan."  
  
With the wedding a mere two weeks away, Hermione had picked up the pace on things. The RSVP's had all been received, and the respondents had then been termed "green pin" or "pink pin" indicating which side of the chapel they'd be sitting on and so on and so forth. Hermione had been worried that Harry would be upset that he didn't have as many pins as she did.  
  
He just thought it was a bloody lot of pins, and who really cared?  
  
Wisely, he had not told Hermione such a thing, and the wedding was still on, if only he would count a number of monogrammed napkins. Secretly, he suspected that Hermione knew exactly how many napkins there were, and she just wanted to get him out of her hair.  
  
He really didn't mind all that much. The wedding would be nice and all, but he'd be glad to have Hermione back afterwards. She'd become incredibly girly lately, which was nice when it involved exciting girly things like lingerie and stiletto heels, but not so nice when it involved weird little crying binges over the department store running out of their china pattern. Unfortunately, saying "don't worry, we'll just mix and match" hadn't had the mood lightening effect he'd hoped, and they hadn't spoken for two days after the incident.  
  
When it came down to it, he'd really only partly been joking.  
  
"Harry, can you come over here and help with the party favors?"  
  
"I'm counting napkins."  
  
"Well, leave that for later. I need you to put all these little cards inside the little gift boxes. Put it on top of the gift, please. All the gifts for people in the wedding are in this box, and their card will correspond with the name on top of the gift box. All the other gifts are in these ten boxes." Hermione sat for a moment while thinking of all the ways that Harry could screw the task up "Actually, why don't you just do the regular gifts, and I'll take care of the personalized ones later."  
  
Harry smiled and nodded. He got the feeling it was something he would be doing quite a bit in the next two weeks. Opening the first box, he realized that he would be putting notes in well over 300 boxes. Their small wedding with just family and friends was turning into the social event of the century. Somehow, he didn't think anyone else found that fact terribly alarming.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Bellisima, you look so tired!" Antonio cupped her chin in his hand and clucked disapprovingly. "Is that cold still bothering you?"  
  
"A bit," she replied non-committally. She'd even begun being irritable towards Carlos, who'd seemed a bit snippier than usual when he'd packed up his brushes and stormed out of her trailer this evening. Perhaps it was more serious than she'd thought. That doctor from the emergency room had left a message with her cleaning lady the other day, and Glin once again resolved to call him back. It hadn't sounded terribly urgent. Still, maybe it had something to do with her present mood.  
  
"It's this dreadful damp English weather. Every day- rain, rain, rain. And the city is so crowded I wonder how anyone has enough air." He brushed a nearly invisible strand of hair out of her face. "Never fear, Bella. I've got the solution. You need a little vacation. I have a villa off the coast of Italy. You take a little time off, and get these nasty British doldrums out of your system."  
  
"I-"  
  
"No protests." He placed a finger over her mouth. "I am a temperamental photographer. It is best to humor me."  
  
"I'm just as much a temperamental model. I have things here." She shrugged and wrinkled her nose. "There's Harry and Herm's wedding to help with, and I promised Ginny I'd help her put the finishing touches on Malfoy Manor... I'm not trying to be busy, I just am."  
  
"I thought the wedding was in May?"  
  
"They've moved it up. Two weeks from today."  
  
"They don't consider that you have other commitments?" He questioned darkly.  
  
"They're in love. They don't think that me planning a bachelorette party and getting fitted again for my bridesmaid gown is really going to throw that much off. Honestly, it won't. I'm having Hex cleared out for the party, and Angelina's going to get a few of her buff guy friends to man the bar."  
  
"Have they names, these 'buff guys?"  
  
"Not that I'm interested in. Besides, I need to cool my jets for awhile as my mother would say. I'm swearing off men for a good month at least."  
  
"So no drunken flings with the groomsmen? It's an American custom, no?" His eyes twinkled as he teased her and then darkened at her answer.  
  
"The only unattached one in my age bracket is the very reason I'm swearing off men."  
  
"Donald- the foolish one?"  
  
"Ronald- the one night stand gone awry," she corrected. "Men: always clingy at all the wrong moments."  
  
"Cara, why not let me arrange to have him dealt with?"  
  
Glin laughed. It had become rather common for Antonio to make little comments like that. Most of the Italians she knew didn't care to be associated with the mafia, but Antonio joked freely about it. It was refreshing.  
  
"No need. I've got the situation under control. He hasn't even tried to contact me in the last week."  
  
"Good." He traced a cool thumb down her cheek. "I don't like plebeians troubling mia bella."   
  
  
  
  
  
  
"I can't believe we bought all that. Good Lord, Draco, you should have stopped me!"  
  
"But you looked so cute with all those little shopping backs and delivery orders," he said, touching her nose. "It's not like I don't have the money."  
  
"We really didn't need three hundred count sheets, Draco. They cost more than a month's worth of groceries."  
  
Ginny was spooned up against him, and he nuzzled her shoulder. "Your skin is so soft. We wouldn't want it to chafe..."  
  
"Don't encourage me. And that bed. We didn't need a king sized bed. Full would have been sufficient, queen more than adequate. King sized is just ridiculously excessive."  
  
"I really like that you say 'we' without even thinking about it." Draco completely ignored the topic, as was common for him when he was close to sleep. He was always the most honestly when he was barely conscious. "It makes my heart beat faster, but in a good way."  
  
"Now you're just flattering me to distract me from the fact that I've just wasted thousands of galleons of your money."  
  
"One bed with all the trimmings. It was supposed to make up for my being an ass earlier."  
  
"It doesn't have to," Ginny told him sympathetically. "If I'd thought about it for more than a moment I'd have realized what all the fuss was about. Of course you wouldn't want to sleep in his bed."  
  
"I don't want him touching you," he said in a troubled way that almost broke her heart. "It'd be like he was touching us, and I don't like to think of him when I think of you."  
  
She turned in his arms to face him. "He can't touch us, Draco. He can only hurt us now if we let him."  
  
He sighed and rested his head on her shoulder. "Sometimes it's really hard."  
  
"I know, darling." She stroked his hair, feeling the silk sift through her fingers. "You're so strong and brave though, to try and protect us from all of the world. Sometimes I worry that it's taking its toll on you."  
  
"I forget sometimes now," he mumbled into her hair. "I forget that I was ever... different, and that the two of you were hurt, and sometimes I look at you with Marigold and I can't help but think that if you had been her mother, things could have always been as easy as they are when I forget about it all."  
  
"I love you, Draco." She told him, kissing his forehead. "I hope that doesn't complicate it all too much."  
  
"Loving you only makes it easier," he said, snuggling her down into the covers and falling into a sound sleep.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Tracy was nudged awake by a cold wet nose. Looking up to the clock on Remus's bedside table, she saw a green blob. Refocusing her eyes, she saw that it was around 2:30 in the morning. "Hmm???"  
  
Remus whined in the back of his throat, and danced about nervously on his paws.  
  
"Remus, what is it?" Tracy rubbed her eyes and yawned. Remus's bed was incredibly comfortable, and if she hadn't already been fairly dedicated to getting into it, this would have sent her over the edge. It was soft, but not too soft, and it smelled... Well it smelled like Remus. Human Remus, not wolf Remus, which would have been weird, she supposed...   
  
The wolf that was Remus took her shirt in his teeth and dragged her out of his bedroom to the front door. Scratching it lightly with his paws, he made the whining noise again.  
  
"Oh. You need to... right." She opened the door and he ran out. Calling to him, she said "I'll just make a cup of tea, and you can do your business and when you want in just scratch. Right." She supposed it was normal to feel weird talking to a wolf, even if that wolf was Remus. Wolves couldn't talk back. It was like when you suddenly realize that although you made a strict vow to never talk baby talk to your cat, and then all of a sudden you were calling it "wittle miss princess pants."  
  
Yawning, she padded into Remus's kitchen and put a cup of water and a tea bag in a mug, which said "I'm an animagus in the sack." She popped the whole thing in the microwave, daring not to check to see if there was a little icon proclaiming it "microwave safe." Tracy lived her life on the edge, and sometimes girls like her just had to throw caution to the wind.  
  
She'd found the mug in the very back of the cupboard, behind all the boring plain red and gold mugs. It really was boring how dedicated to their house colors former Hogwarts boys were. She suspected the mildly lewd mug had been a present from someone who'd found the plain mugs just as boring as she did. Maybe one of the Weasley boys. They seemed to have a great deal of fun.  
  
Her tea beeped then, and she went to stir it, but heard a scratching at the door. She let Remus in, and they stood there awkwardly for a moment before she spoke. "I don't need to go clean up...whatever, do I? I mean, there are laws some places and I just..."  
  
Remus looked up at her and winced, or did as good an imitation of wincing as a wolf can do. He shook his head.  
  
"Good. I kind of draw the line at cleaning up boyfriend's fecal matter." There once again was an awkward silence. "Well, I made tea. You want something? Water? Milk? I actually don't think that tea would be very good for you, and on second thought, milk makes cats all yicky, so maybe we'll just stick with water."  
  
He followed her soundlessly into the kitchen.  
  
She poured some water into a cereal bowl, and set it on the floor for him. Carrying her tea from the microwave to the counter, she explained. "Yes, I'm adding sugar, even though it's peppermint tea. It makes it taste like a peppermint candy, and I'm an adult and I can have sugar in my tea if I like."  
  
He looked at her expectantly.  
  
Tracy took a big gulp of her tea. "Yes, I'm rambling, but I really think that's just because it's rather hard to carry on a conversation when there isn't any sort of feedback on the other persons part. D'you know what I mean?" Tracy once again got the feeling that perhaps she were going more than a little crazy. "Okay, well, I suppose you'll just think I'm an ass in the morning, and we'll be done with it, and that'll be that."  
  
Remus rubbed his head endearingly against her leg, and it was like he was saying "it's all right, I understand your dilemma perfectly. You are handling this with style and grace, and I think that you are fantastic for doing this for me." Only Remus would never have put it quite so sappily.  
  
Tracy gulped her tea some more. "Right. Well, I think you're a really pretty wolf. Or maybe I mean handsome? Whichever. Really, though, you look lots like a big puppy, only, you know, more menacing. Which is good, cause you're a wolf, not a dog. I just mean that if I were going to get a wolf-looking dog I'd want him to look just like you, actually. It's nice."  
  
Remus bumped up against her again, and yawned over-theatrically as canines have a habit of doing.  
  
"Tired? Well, I'm pretty much done with my tea."  
  
She was crawling into bed, when she noticed that Remus was curling up in front of the now dead fire. "Remus, you don't have to sleep on the floor. It's not like we'd be doing anything. You can lay in the bed if you like."  
  
Remus waited a few moments before hopping up on the bed and settling near Tracy's feet. 


	11. Restraint

"Harry, there's an owl at the window," Hermione whined, poking him in the side.  
  
"Grargh." He growled incoherently. "Why doesn't it drop it in the letter box?"  
  
"It's a little early for me to dissect the inner workings of avian psyche, Harry." Hermione groaned. "Go let it in."  
  
"Why me?"  
  
"Aren't you just dying to be the male protector guy?" Yawning and stretching, she rolled over and placed her hand on his chest. "Harry, protect me from the owl noises"  
  
As if on cue, the owl hooted.  
  
"Gah! Fine." Harry pulled back the covers, and stalked to the window. He opened it and pulled the letter off the owl's leg. Quickly, he slammed the window shut and ran back into the bed.  
  
"What is it?" Hermione asked.  
  
"We need carpeting, that's what it is," Harry exclaimed. "My feet are bloody freezing"   
  
"The letter, Harry!"  
  
"I'm serious," Harry said, holding the letter out of her reach and smirking.  
  
"Harry, you're playing a dangerous game. It's very early and I know innumerable ways to make you cry very loudly."  
  
Harry gave her the letter, but not before she'd crawled on top of him. At the moment, she was sitting on his chest. Much to his delight, moving off of him appeared to be secondary to her interest in reading the letter. Rather unfortunately for Harry, the note was short and Hermione rolled off of him immediately and groaned into her pillow. Harry groaned as well and rolled over onto Hermione's back, covering her and began to nuzzle her neck.  
  
"Mmm..." She murmured, wiggling around a bit until her back cracked. "I knew you were good for something. You're heavy."  
  
"Heavy as in sexy heavy?"  
  
"Heavy as in 'oomph- you're squishing me.'" She lifted her shoulder up an inch until it was pressed firmly against Harry's chest. "Besides, we haven't got time for sexy anything."  
  
"Why not?" He asked as he rolled over and pulled her on top of him. Tilting his head up, he began to pepper kisses up her neck.  
  
"Because that was Glin. She's going to be over to help finish up the little details for this Saturday." Cleverly, Hermione substituted "this Saturday" for the much scarier phrase "our wedding" and "the day after tomorrow."  
  
"Not even a quick-"  
  
"I think there's a rule about that sort of thing," a voice from the bedroom door answered. "I'm sure Miss Manners has written volumes on why not to have sex on the day of your bachelorette party. Although, the two of you are living in sin and all that anyway..."  
  
"Did Miss Manners mention anything about breaking and entering?" Harry said dryly.  
  
"You mean beyond 'keep a credit card in your handbag?'" Glin asked. "I don't know. Besides, if you'd really wanted privacy last night you'd have put up wards like you usually do."  
  
"Give me fifteen minutes," Hermione grumbled.  
  
"I'll give you four and a half. You can get ready in four and you can do what you like with the other thirty seconds."  
  
"Glin-"  
  
"I wouldn't argue if I were you. The clock is ticking. Well, actually, I would argue, but then I don't have your messy little hang-ups about modesty, but that is neither here nor there. Four-fifteen." She recited the remaining time in a sing-song voice.  
  
"She's gotten mean," Harry said, raising his eyebrows as Hermione raced out of bed at lightning speed.  
  
"You'll find out for yourself. You get to tell her about the final line-up decisions while I get ready."  
  
"But-"  
  
Before sprinting into the bathroom Hermione shot him a dirty look. "Harry, she's just a woman. She doesn't have superpowers, hell, I'm sure you could take her in a fight... Probably... That's irrelevant anyway, because she's not a violent person. She's not even terribly emotional."  
  
"Then why don't you tell her?"  
  
"I'm going to be at her mercy for the next twenty hours or so. Four minutes"  
  
"Three-" Chimed in a voice from the hall. "And what is she talking about?"  
  
"Harry'll explain." Hermione looked at him pointedly and said in a whisper, "throw on a pair of pants and go tell her."  
  
Around a minute later, Harry emerged from the bedroom to find Glin sitting on one of the stools that surrounded the kitchen counter, one leg crossed over the other. A precariously balanced saucer was resting on her knee, and she was sipping a cup of tea. She looked almost harmless.  
  
"Almost" being the operative word.  
  
Lifting one glove-encased hand, she gave him a little wave. "Morning. Best to get the nasty secret out of the way right off the bat."  
  
"Well, Hermione and I were looking at the wedding and we thought it would be best if Sirius stood up for me like a father, because then there'd be an even number of groomsmen and bridesmaids, because Minnie opted to handle the guest book. But then we needed a best man, and Remus said that he'd feel weird doing it, and Ron didn't want to walk with Ginny when Fred and George were walking with their wives and..."  
  
"Who's the best man?" She didn't need to ask. She knew. Somehow, she needed to hear him say it.  
  
"Well, that's what I was getting at-"  
  
"It's Ron, right? I mean, all signs point to Ron. The weird secrecy thing, the last minute telling me, the dreadfully uncomfortable air." She set the teacup and saucer on the counter because both were beginning to shake rather ungracefully on her knee. Her hands went to her lap, finding it was easier to steady them that way. "Harry, it's your wedding. Do what makes you happy."  
  
"Thanks for understanding." He gave her an awkward hug.  
  
"It's not exactly like I have the right to pine over him, anyway." She told him with a shrug, wiping her eye. "Now, stop all of this emotional shit so I can go back to being a heartless bitch. And for Christ's sake, take a damn shower."  
  
Harry disappeared into the bathroom, and Hermione emerged from the bedroom. "It's a good thing I'm a witch, otherwise I wouldn't have had time to do much more than throw on a pair of robes and clean underwear."  
  
"You did more than that and you look like this?" Glin said, her teacup clattering noisily against the saucer. "It's a good thing we're going shopping today."  
  
"Shopping?" By Hermione's estimation everything for the wedding was done. From the caterer to the pre-printed thank you cards and little, paper, drink umbrellas, everything was under control.  
  
"For the bachelorette party. I have a few things to pick up, and we need to buy your outfit."  
  
"Outfit?"  
  
"Right, I didn't give you an invitation. Well, the party is at Hex, and Hex isn't really a boring type of place. Thus our attire has to be..." Glin gave a giggly sort of laugh. "Less than boring. Well, technically more than boring, I suppose. Regardless, it's muggle themed and as the guest of honor, you need to look particularly... special."  
  
"I have muggle clothes Glin. My parents are muggle, and I do have undercover stuff."  
  
"Well, you never wear anything like that in front of me so I generally don't associate you with that sort of thing. Let's go look through your things." Glin slipped down off her stool and pushed the door to the bedroom open.  
  
Hermione trailed behind her calling "Harry, stay in the bathroom, we're coming through! Glin, they're in the closet, second set of doors."  
  
Dramatic as always, Glin sat in the window seat, one leg propped up, the other dangling down onto the floor. "You know them better than I do. Just show me everything and I'll veto."  
  
Six outfits were discarded for being "entirely too nerdy," four for being "grandma-frilly" and one for having "gone out with the Bangles." The remaining pieces were things Hermione usually wore with a black ski mask and plenty of weaponry.  
  
"The normal stuff," as Glin referred to it.  
  
Finally Glin picked a black tank top out of the pile and grimaced. "This is salvageable. The rest... I really don't see how you could be a spy and have such blah spy clothes. You'd think you never went undercover as a biker chick or a slutty nurse."  
  
"I haven't."  
  
Staring at Hermione with a mix of revulsion and horror, a scary revelation came to Glin. "Spies are boring."  
  
"Don't listen to her." Harry walked out of the bathroom wearing only a pair of pajama pants and towel drying his hair. Walking up behind Hermione and wrapping his arms around her, he nuzzled her neck. "She's just jealous."  
  
"Of boring spies and married people?" Glin asked in disbelief. "Right."  
  
"We're not married yet," they said in unison.  
  
"That is merely a technicality. Nerds."  
  
  
  
  
When Glin arrived at Hex, she was surprised to see a very nervous-looking Mark. Somehow, she feared that didn't bode well for the ladies night out she'd planned. "What is it?"  
  
"Someone in the booking office did a very bad thing..." Mark bit his lip and winced, expecting her to be angry before she'd even heard about the nature of the problem.  
  
"Don't even try to sugar coat this, Mark. I've got to decorate before the party, and I've got a very important and probably unpleasant appointment in an hour."  
  
"We're double booked," he blurted out, as he began wringing his hands.  
  
Glin's eyes narrowed to slits. "Who? Who did else is booked tonight, Mark?"  
  
"Some Weasley fellow. I don't know him."  
  
The growling noise. She made was highly undignified. "You're going to cut the price in half for him. Put his party upstairs. Charm the place so the two floors are completely isolated. Not a sound gets through or both parties are free, and the booze is gratis as well."  
  
"Glin, baby, be reasonable," he cajoled.  
  
"I'm not feeling fucking reasonable," Glin said, punctuating her words by poking him repeatedly in the chest. "I haven't felt fucking reasonable for a really long time, and I'm really about to snap, so you'll do what I say, when I say, or you'll regret it. Remember why people come to your club, Mark. There are hundreds of places that can pour a good drink, hundreds of places that have good music and moderately beautiful women. The reason your club has enjoyed the modicum of success it has it because regardless of the trouble I have to put up with from certain individuals, I come here, and I tell people that I come here. The bands you get are because of me, the crowd you get is because of me." She grabbed him by his tie and pulled his face close to hers. "The connections you have are because of me. For awhile, certain allowances were made because I consider you a friend. If you choose to piss me off, the allowances will be stopped, and all the privileges that come with being my friend will cease to exist. Somehow, I don't think you want that to happen, do you, Marky?"  
  
This certainly, was not what Mark had expected. He had expected her to be mad. He hadn't expected her to almost strangle him with his tie and threaten to dissolve their business-like relationship. It was as if something inside Glin had broken. She wasn't nice and fun and flighty anymore. Something had happened, and it didn't look like it could be solved with a whiskey sour, so Mark was pretty much at a loss. "Glin-"  
  
She was already walking away though, and the only reply she gave him was a steely glance and the cold words "don't fuck with me, Mark."  
  
She flicked her wand casually, and vanished from sight.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"What am I doing again?" Remus asked nervously.  
  
"Helping me pick out an outfit. It's what boyfriends do," Tracy said, popping out of the bathroom, and very nearly popping out of the deep v-neck cut in the emerald green dress she was wearing.  
  
"Umm..."  
  
"Right. I'd have to shave my legs. Pants it is." She disappeared into the bathroom again. Remus wondered if his mouth could get any drier and...  
  
"Oh my..." Remus may very possibly have swallowed his Adam's apple from the way his throat was convulsively contracting. "Tracy... I... um... wow..."  
  
"I guess this is it," Tracy said, rather nonchalantly for a woman wearing a vinyl jump suit. Particularly when she was primping in said body suit, which, incidentally, left practically nothing to the imagination. "Normally, this wouldn't be party-appropriate, but I think with the proper accessorization, Glin will appreciate my taste."  
  
Remus stared at her blankly. Her mouth was moving, but he couldn't hear anything but the blood rushing in his ears. Bending, she rummaged for something in the satchel she'd dropped on the floor earlier. Soon, it became dreadfully (or wonderfully, depending upon your take on the situation) apparent that the silver zipper running down the front of Tracy's suit was for functional purposes rather than just decoration. Each new bend of Tracy's body gave the zipper the opportunity to slide just a little lower, revealing just a hint more of tantalizing, creamy skin. Lower and lower and...  
  
Remus made a whining sound in the back of his throat.  
  
Startled, Tracy looked up with eyes that were genuinely innocent for once. "Remus?"  
  
"Zipper-" He managed to choke out.  
  
Tracy looked down and rolled her eyes and then zipped it up to her neck. "Better?"  
  
He nodded, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. "It's a little close to the full moon. Sorry."  
  
"Remus, we've been dating almost a month. We could get down to the wild monkey sex fairly soon without tarnishing our reputations."  
  
"Tracy, I just think-"  
  
  
"Okay." She said abruptly. "No crazy monkey sex. How about crazy monkey kissing? I'll set my watch to stop us in five minutes."  
  
And then she was on him. Her smooth, long fingers running restlessly up and down his arms, her lips devouring his and he knew they shouldn't . It'd be much too hard to pull away, especially with Tracy on his lap and his hands positively itching to ease that zipper down. It'd just take a tug, really, and then no stupid, little stopwatch would distract them. They had to stop, and he was going to push her away, he really was, but then she put her hands on his shirt lapels and tugged and oh, Merlin, they deserved this. They'd been so good, practically chaste, and this was so fucking good... And then... the beep.  
  
Tracy stopped, panting, her hot breath warming his neck. "Oh Goddess, Remus, we'd better do this sex thing before we explode from the tension. After we're both done with the cycling thing for the month, I'm jumping you, whether you still have reservations or not."  
  
"I need a cold shower," he breathed heavily. "Bloody Hell, I could throw myself into the channel and I'd still be overheated."  
  
"Let's think of something non-sexy. Accessories. Do you have a silver chain?"  
  
"Necklace or restraint?"  
  
"Either," she said curiously.  
  
"Both."  
  
"Kinky." She couldn't help arching an eyebrow and running her hand along his hip. Evidently, she wasn't the only one lacking self-control, as Remus arched up into her touch, biting back a moan.  
  
"Sorry," they said in chorus.  
  
"There's a wooden box at the top of my closet. It has some stuff you can use." Remus kept his eyes closed. "I'll be in the shower."  
  
Tracy climbed off him and trotted dutifully into his bedroom.  
  
When he emerged from the bathroom twenty minutes later, Tracy had apparently had the presence of mind to cover herself up. Unsettling as it was, covering up the costume with one of his weathered old t-shirts hadn't really solved the problem. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed and she was lovely. The box was open in front of her, and she was picking through it gently with one hand, her other brushing a fallen strand of hair out of her face. She looked up at him and smiled softly before patting the bed next to her.  
  
"Come tell me about this stuff."  
  
He obliged, even though he knew he shouldn't be doing this, getting this close to her. It was just... she looked at him so tenderly and he knew that this was one of those moments where couples were supposed to bond.  
  
"Whose rings?" She asked, her small for once.  
  
"Oh," he said. The rings. He'd forgotten they were there. "I had them made for me and a...friend when we graduated from Hogwarts."  
  
"Why do you have both?"  
  
Remus looked at the rings in the box rather than at Tracy. "It's not really all that interesting. I didn't tell her as soon as I should have and it ended poorly."  
  
"There's more, but I'm not gonna dig." Wrapping her arm around his waist, she hugged him gently, then laid her head on his shoulder. "Some people are stupid. Her loss. What do the little symbols mean?"  
  
"Runes." He took the larger ring from her and rotated it so she could see it better. "The one that looks like an 'x' is 'Gebo- it means gift. The upside down 'u' is Uruz. Passion. The 'p' is Wunjo, it means joy. The two bent lines are Jera, or 'reward.' 'S' is Sowulo, which means success. "B"- Berkana, new beginnings. The sort of 'm' is Mannaz, or family, and the last is Inguz, which means bounty. I kept them because I thought they were kind of a nice thought, if not for that particular person."  
  
"They're beautiful," Tracy said, smiling up at him sadly. "How come all the good boys are emotionally scarred or gay?"  
  
"I'm not emotionally scarred," Remus protested. "At least not by that. And not really all that much in general. It's not like I kept them in this box, pulling them out every once and awhile to pine over her. We were exclusive for a few months, and she wasn't who I thought she was, and I was disappointed. I kept them because they're pretty and I thought maybe someday I'd give one to someone else. That's all, no great love affair and tragic ending. Hasn't that ever happened to you?"  
  
"Yes. His name was Lawrence Jenson, and I was madly in love with him. He told me he'd always love me, and I gave him my chocolate pudding. We went steady for three weeks before he kissed Miranda Jenkins behind the cubby holes and I had to dump him in front of the whole class. It was harrowing." She sighed dramatically.  
  
"Chocolate pudding? Cubby holes?"  
  
"Third Grade, Miss Markham's class," Tracy said. "I guess I'm not just the melodramatic love affair kind of gal."  
  
"Be that as it may. There's a small silver chain in there, I think." He rummaged around a bit before pulling out a thin silver necklace. "Here. If you put the smaller ring on it, it'll look nice, like a pendant."  
  
"Remus, don't..."  
  
He was already slipping the chain around her neck, though. "I'm not giving it to you, Tracy. Think of it as a loan."  
  
"This is getting all sappy." She said, almost grumpy, before abruptly changing the subject though. "What're the bigger chain and padlock for? Locking up some dangerous magical artifact?"  
  
"Only me, I'm afraid. They're silver plated. Quite handy before the Wolfsbane potion came about. It's actually a choke chain. You clip one end to a hook on the wall, and the other slips around. A bit longer than usual, so that when I shifted it wouldn't actually choke me." It was his voice that was quiet now, as if softening the words softened the memories.  
  
Tracy kissed his shoulder and closed her eyes. "I'm so sorry they locked you up, Remus."  
  
"Not me. The wolf."  
  
She took his face in her hands and looked at him soberly. "You can't pull that alter-ego bullshit on me. You know as well as I do that the wolf is very rarely fully in control. You're always there, even if just a little." He turned his head awkwardly and looked away. She let go. "It isn't anything to be ashamed of. Wolf-you just wants to do what wolves do. Run around, eat when you're hungry, be safe. Everyone has a little bit of animal instinct, why should anyone blame you for yours physically manifesting itself?"  
  
"This isn't just a self-perception problem, Tracy. The world hates who I am."  
  
"The world hates lots of things, Remus. The world is kind of shitty at times, which is why the world doesn't matter. People do. I like you, and I'm self-centered enough to think that should be enough."  
  
"Sometimes it is," he admitted. They sat in silence for awhile before Remus spoke again. "The choke chain would probably make a reasonably attractive belt for that get-up." 


	12. The Wild Night

One of the few benefits of going out with Glin was the inevitable fact that regardless of how much skin you were showing, Glin would still be wearing the racier ensemble. In fact, Ginny was fairly certain that someone could show up naked to Hermione's bachelorette party and Glin would somehow manage to be more naked. Luckily for Ginny, she'd escaped a shopping excursion with Glin and was wearing a relatively tame outfit. Sleeveless, the little black dress fell to just above the knee and flared out just enough to swish around her legs when she walked.  
  
"Draco?" She asked, eyeing herself critically in the vanity's mirror. "Does this look okay?"  
  
Stepping out of the bathroom, Draco glanced at where Ginny was posing in front of the mirror, then placed his hands on her shoulders and shook his head compassionately. "Awful. Truly wretched. We're just going to have to stay in."  
  
She met his eyes in the mirror and rolled her eyes at him. "It won't be that bad, Draco. They'll all be so drunk and busy harassing Harry they won't have time to be snide to you." She kissed one of the hands on her right shoulder. "They're stubborn, but they'll get over it."  
  
He took his hands off her shoulders and turned away. "If you keep bullying them to invite me along, you mean," he said sourly.  
  
"It's as good a method as any. Worked for me anyway." She stopped fixing her hair and turned around. "Just don't get drunk and-"  
  
"Don't eat or drink anything Fred or George have had a chance to tamper with," he recited. "You told me already."  
  
"I'd just rather not have to un-hex you when I'm going to be fairly well inebriated."  
  
"So you get to go out and get pissed, but I can't? That's quite the double standard, dear." Draco teased.  
  
Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. "I figure once a boyfriend has vomited on me, he owes me one."  
  
"A fairly good rule of thumb," a new voice rang out. Minnie ambled in from the doorway where she'd been eavesdropping. "I wasn't eavesdropping, I just happened to hear everything you said because I was standing just out of sight. There was no 'dropping' involved, and the presence of 'eaves' is entirely dependent upon your definition. Where're the parties?"  
  
"You know, you could make your babble a little more understandable with the use of transitions. Try it some time." Draco said dryly.   
  
"Save me from your incomparable wit," the cat replied sarcastically before rolling over onto her back and looking pained. "Since you aren't answering my question, I'll tell you. Both are the parties are at Hex at seven. Why is that?"  
  
"First off, it's rude to go through someone else's mail, Minnie, not to mention against the law," Ginny admonished.  
  
"Bah. Law schmaw. I'm am above the law. If the law were a hill, I would be over it. If the law were-"  
  
"Can it, or I'll put you in the kennel," Ginny said bluntly. "As for why both parties are at Hex, I suppose we'll find out when we get there."  
  
Minnie's ears flickered in irritation. "Well, let's get going then. It's almost seven. You've said goodnight to the kid?"  
  
"She's over at Mum and Dad's for the night already," Ginny told her. She'd convinced Draco that Molly would love to have a little girl to fawn over for a night. Convincing Molly and Arthur hadn't been terribly hard, even though they still had reservations about the whole Draco situation. When Ginny and Draco had left the Burrow, Molly was making cocoa, and Arthur had been showing Marigold one of the boy's old collections of Chocolate Frog Cards.  
  
"So let's leave," Minnie said, doing her best to arch an eyebrow. Honestly, getting the two of them out a bedroom was more difficult than getting Ricky Martin out of those leather trousers he was always wearing.  
  
  
  
  
  
As Hermione surveyed the room, she was once again grateful she'd entrusted Glin with all the bachelorette party details. It was quite apparent that, while Glin might project the appearance of a scatter-brained fashionista, she could throw one hell of a party.  
  
The club was dimly lit, with amber fairy lights zipping around at the top of the room, providing a hazy sort of half light. Glin must have placed some sort of a magical netting up at the top of the room to keep them from coming down and biting the guests. There wasn't a live band, but some sort of music was being piped in, probably on a muggle sound system. It was rock, but sort of mellow, and the singer had a slightly raspy, sexy voice. It was good for a bachelorette party, all in all.  
  
The room had been rearranged so that tables and chairs were clustered enough that everyone could see Hermione if she sat towards the center. A little sign on the bar indicated that gifts should be placed there. Baskets for tips sat on the bar for the wait-staff, and they had been decorated with red and gold bows. Crimson and cream flower arrangements were scattered about the room.  
  
After hours of shopping, Glin had decided Hermione would wear a pair of cream, linen, boot-cut pants that had thin, vertical, brown stripes running down the sides. A large, chocolate brown, satin ribbon laced up the pants on the left hip. The tight, white tee-shirt Glin'd bought topped it. Glin'd decided to try her hand at fashion design, and had torn the sleeves off, ripped off the hem at both the waist and the neck, and torn a small line that extended low enough tat Hermione was afraid her bra would show, or the shirt would just randomly fall apart. In addition to tearing up a perfectly good tee-shirt, Glin had painted "Bride" across the bust in scrawling, chocolate brown letters.  
  
Suede brown boots were probably the only part of the get-up Hermione would consider wearing again. Even she had to admit that she looked pretty good, though. Carlos had stormed into her flat around an hour earlier like a tornado, flinging around words like "base" and "waterproof" and "manipulator." Her hair had been polished and curled and pulled until it fell in a riot of artfully messy ringlets that were pulled back from her face by a wide, satin, chocolate brown headband.  
  
He make-up made her feel like a movie star. Her eyes were covered from lash to brow with a light tan Carlos called "chilled champagne." He'd highlighted that color with a deep brown- "cashmere cocoa." Her cheekbones were defined enough to make her look exotic, but not enough to suggest that she was related to "circus folk." Her favorite part of all was the stuff Carlos had smeared all over her lips. It stayed on no matter what. She'd kissed Harry, had a cup of tea, even brushed her teeth and her lips still looked as polished and "mochalicious" as they had when Carlos had first shown her. She was half convinced that he'd used dark magic, but if this was the result she really didn't care. Let him mutter the unforgivable curses right and left, because if this was his contribution to human-kind, he could do no wrong.  
  
Glin popped out the bathroom, and Hermione realized that she had, once again, been outdone.  
  
A masterpiece of illusions, Glin's outfit appeared to be held together using only a few small and haphazardly placed stitches. Sheer, triangular strips of blue fabric in varying hues made the dress. The strips were banner shaped and had jagged edges as if they'd been torn, not cut. The short side of the strips laid just across the bottom of Glin's collarbone, with the pointy tips hitting her a little above her navel. Another strand of them started just below her bust, and a third set of longer triangles started at the top of her hipbone. A fourth and final set started around six inches above her knee. The triangles overlapped enough to cover the essentials.  
  
Maybe.  
  
Little, aqua, open-toed shoes with a low heel, dangly, light-blue earrings, and a white-gold armband set with light-blue crystals accessorized the ensemble. Her eyes were highlighted with a very light blue shadow, and her lips were glossed over in a nude shade, leaving her whole face looking dewy and fresh. Her hair fell in short, pale blonde ringlets hitting her just about at her chin, with the sides pulled back just enough to showcase the earrings perfectly.  
  
If there had been around twice as many of the little triangles, t would have been a fairly-presentable, highly-fashionable outfit. As it was, Glin looked like an "R" rated waterfall. "X" rated, depending upon the way the light hit her. Hermione certainly couldn't see any sort of undergarments at least...  
  
"Stop staring at me like that," she said exhaustedly. "I'm wearing stuff under this- it's just the same color as my skin. It's been a long day, and I couldn't handle going commando." Glin sat on a stool and put her head on the bar with a pitiful expression. "Don't tell people. I don't want to ruin my reputation."  
  
Hermione ruffled her hair. "I promise. What's wrong?"  
  
"Other than Harry's party being upstairs?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Evidently someone double-booked it. I spent a few hours decorating and putting up wards and things all over the place so that they'd stay upstairs and we wouldn't hear each other." Glin's lower lip fell out in a pout. "My feet hurt."  
  
"Want me to charm you and cheer things up? I'm really, really good at it," Hermione wheedled.  
  
"It wouldn't be good for- I've felt flu-y. Besides, it'd wear off quick, and I don't want to get addicted to that kinda thing anyway."  
  
"Okay. Let me know if I can do anything."  
  
"Just have fun. I like being a hostess. I'll be okay. I thrive on parties."  
  
  
  
  
  
Apparently, Glin was right. Hours later, she was bubbly and much like her old self. Keeping track of the presents Hermione received on a scroll of parchment, she made notes so that Hermione would have an easier time writing thank you notes. Hopefully, she'd have less trouble returning half the junk she'd gotten. It wasn't necessarily bad stuff... Well, truthfully, some of it was hideous. Most of it was just wildly un-Hermione. A chartreuse corset that would look hideous on a girl of Hermione's coloring came from some woman who was, quite clearly, beyond intoxicated. When Hermione had opened the box, and the woman began hooting and giggling, Glin had known there'd be trouble. She'd guessed as much when someone had passed a package that looked like it had been in a war with scotch tape and lost.  
  
Being a woman about town as she was, Glin had been through a number of bachelorette parties. Generally, your higher quality gifts were professionally wrapped in pastel, solid colors, with fabric bows. Patterns bespoke of the middle level department store, especially busy patterns meant lower-end stores, your basic riff-raff. Handmade paper was iffy- generally the gift was expensive, but not returnable, and the odds were fairly high it was from some sort of artsy, little store.  
  
When it comes to non-professionally wrapped items, usually the amount of tape and the ribbon color were key. Generally, the less tape, the better, to a certain point. When it gets to the point where only the bare minimum of tape is used, you know that the gift buyer has included the cost of wrapping supplies in their gift budget. Mismatched ribbon showed poor taste, and almost assured a gift return. Why even open it, except to be polite, really?  
  
Some of it was interesting, at the very least. One of Hermione's crazy auror friends, who looked like she hadn't been out of a surveillance van in years, gave her a variety of restraints ranging from four silken cord things to a pair of handcuffs. If you thought about them in connection with Hermione, it was gross. If you could consider them independent of the whole Harry/Hermione-having-sex thing... well the prospects were actually much more intriguing.  
  
Ginny's secretary Sadie had give Hermione a little bowtie and collar set which they'd all been ready to attribute to some nefarious, sexually-deviant purpose, when Sadie rather depressingly informed them it was so the cat could feel dressed up for the wedding as well. The groans followed in stereo, but Hermione seemed to like it as well as the variety of bath tonics Sadie had also given her.  
  
Padma's gifts had been impeccably wrapped, and had contained two bathrobes and pajama sets for Hermione and Harry. Both robes were crimson terrycloth with gold accents. Harry's pajamas were a satin shirt and pants set in gold, with crimson accents, the same color scheme as Hermione's nightgown. She'd made them herself, which was nice, because it meant they were tailored and she hadn't had to guess at sizes.  
  
From Angelina came some new invention called "Eterna-Fluff Towels." While the phenomenon of having towels that were constantly dry and fluffy did seem pleasant, Glin didn't really see the excitement. They were towels. Sure, they were pretty and soft, but when it came right down to it, they were still towels. Tracy and Alicia had gone the right way, giving gift certificates. Alicia's was to a trendy little home furnishing store called, perplexingly enough, "Boil, Bubble, Toil and Curtains." Tracy's was to "Aphrodite's Wardrobe," an upscale clothing store.   
  
Glin had given them a variety of glasses. Wine glasses, high ball glasses, shot glasses, an amazing amount of them, and a bottle of expensive champagne. Hermione had looked all awed and overwhelmed, so Glin quickly informed her she'd gotten everything at cost from one of Mark's suppliers and laughingly handed her the last present.  
  
Ginny's gift was cute and had the entire table emitting a collective coo. It was a large, leather-bound book, with the simple word "us" emblazoned on the cover. Inside were photos of Harry and Hermione through the years, starting with a picture Mrs. Weasley had snapped of Hermione, Harry and Ron together in Diagon Alley before the start of their second year. There were clips of both of them kissing and cuddling from the tabloids, and a smiling photo of them at a little cafe table a few days after their engagement. Their was a second album, identical to the first, which was presumably for them to fill with pictures of their futures. Hermione was getting a little teared up, so Glin decided it was time to move on.  
  
"Right, so the presents are done, and it appears most of you are pleasantly... toasted, so I'd say it's time for the entertainment. Boys?" She called loudly into the hallway.  
  
A bevy of attractive young men paraded out of the hallway as the music increased in tempo and volume. Some of the more smashed women were up out of their seats and boogying to beat the band before the men even approached them. The others were coaxed out of their seats, leaving Glin and Hermione sitting at the large table.  
  
"Ugh," Hermione muttered. "This is going to take a ton of work to pack up."  
  
"Don't worry about it. Mark and his friends are staying late to help me with everything. I'll have it trucked over to your flat... Although I have no clue where you're going to put it all."  
  
"Most of it will probably be sent over to Draco's for storage. Ginny said he'd be happy to put it all in one of the unused rooms for awhile. We're just going to have to buy a house." Hermione sighed wistfully. "I guess we're not one of the hip Diagon-Alley couples anymore. Steady jobs, a house, and a china pattern. I wonder when we lost our edge."  
  
"It's been a long time in coming, Herm," Glin told her. "The two of you have been an old married couple since before you were dating. The whole picket fence thing was inevitable." She took a big gulp of her milk.  
  
"I don't think we're quite ready for the 2.4 kids yet though."  
  
Glin tried not to choke on her milk, swallowed, and took a few breaths. "Who is? Besides Ginny, of course."  
  
"Yeah, I suppose she got off pretty easy with the built in family thing. They may have baggage, but they're no 36 hours of labor."  
  
"36 hours?" Glin said in horror. "But, that's a day and a half. A day and a half of pushing and shoving and... great goddess, the stretching!"  
  
"Lucky for us, it's a while off, eh?"  
  
"Yeah, lucky us," Glin said. "Hours?"  
  
  
  
  
  
With his hands locked behind his head, and his feet resting on the top of the table, Harry looked pretty relaxed. There was a great deal of ruckus being made around him. The Weasley collective had taken to playing a massive game of cards with Harry's teammates. Sirius was chatting with one of the female bartenders, and Draco sat rather uncomfortably at one side of the table, hands folded in his lap, making eye contact with no one.  
  
"Not much of a cards man, Draco?" Remus asked. Remus had chosen to sit out as well and was finding the evening to be rather boring.  
Draco's head swung to look at him. "With the Weasley brood? Not likely. If I were to lose- which I wouldn't- they'd mock me mercilessly. In the entirely predictable event of my winning, they'd only accuse me of cheating."  
  
"It's hard to break your own mold after living in it so long. At least you're willing to try. You're a braver man than I. Slainte." Remus downed the shot of whisky in front of him.  
  
All of a sudden, Remus smelled something. Actually "smell" was too gentle a word. Out of the thousands of scents in the bar, this one assaulted him. Sucker punched him straight in the gut, and it took a great deal of effort to bury the wolf's desire to howl like something out of a bad horror film.  
  
Tracy was in the room, and from the smell of it, she was close by.  
  
A pair of warm and invisible arms snaked down his chest from behind. Warm breath puffed against his ear as Tracy whispered. "Fancy meeting you here."  
  
"I feel the need to remind you that the use of federally purchased Auror supplies for investigation and harassment of individuals not currently involved in federal or international investigations is strictly prohibited by a variety of international treatises."  
  
"Ah, but you're discounting International Law number 576A, subsection 3, paragraph 4 lines 8 through 10."  
  
"Which would be...?"  
  
"You make me really, really hot." She was kissing the back of his neck now, nipping small bites against his nape.  
  
He moaned softly and looked to make sure none of the other men had noticed. "Tracy, we've got to talk."  
  
"We do an absolutely depressing amount of talking, Remus" she sighed disappointedly in his ear. "I'll meet you at your place in a half hour, is that okay?"  
  
"Mhmm."  
  
  
  
  
  
The bachelorette party had been a success, at least in Glin's opinion. The rest of the girls had gone home, and Hermione's gifts had been loaded sent over to the room at Draco's that Ginny had selected for them. Really, all that was left was to de-spell the place, and then head on home.  
  
"Mark, come dance with me," Glin instructed softly, standing in the middle of the dance floor. She was swaying lightly to the mellow sounds coming out of the stereo.  
  
"Bowie again?" He asked, gathering her in his arms and letting her rock in his arms. "What is it, Dovey? Not like you to get all strung out on classic rock and nostalgia. Some bloke do you wrong?"  
  
"Mark?" She asked, her voice staying soft and calm and her body never breaking from the easy rhythm it had fallen into. "Be quiet. I'm pretending you're someone else."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A waft of warm, vanilla scented air washed over Remus as he opened the front door.  
  
This was not good, definitely not good at all. In fact, if Remus were pressed to make an itemized list of not good things, the would certainly rank very near the top, somewhere under wolfing out and eating friends, yet above public nudity.  
  
Telling your pseudo-girlfriend that you couldn't consummate your relationship because you weren't entirely sure of the consequences, when it appeared she'd been planning a rather nice seduction was not the way to top off a nice evening out.  
  
"Tracy?"  
  
"Remus?" She emerged from the bathroom, wearing his maroon, terrycloth bathrobe, her hair tousled and damp. "I took a shower. My hair smelled like smoky bar, and I know you're especially sensitive to smells right now." She scrunched her nose. "I hope you don't mind."  
  
"Not at all."  
  
Tracy walked into the bedroom, letting the robe shift off her shoulders. "Coming?"  
  
When he made a strangled sound, she turned around and arched and eyebrow. "Honestly, Remus, it's just sex. We really shouldn't have to get all angsty about it. If it's bad, then we can work on it, or... Well, really, it's nothing to have this absurd amount of performance anxiety over."  
  
"Actually, it is something to... urm... 'get all angsty' about." Remus replied nervously, biting his lip. "Why don't you get into some clothes so we can talk."  
  
"Argh! All right." She stalked into the bedroom, and Remus could hear her rifling around in his dresser drawers. A few minutes later she emerged in one of his ratty old sweatshirts and a pair of his boxer shorts. "So, what's the fuss about?"  
  
"Well, Tracy, I think it would be best if I informed you before we got into this that this has-"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, 'it's not you, it's me' blah blah. Let's get down to it Remus."  
  
"Right, sorry. Of course." He said apologetically. "I've been translating the Bisclavret text you gave me and I've discovered a number of very interesting things. It's been invaluable as a resource, really, and I just-"  
  
"Remus! There's a point in here somewhere, I assume?"  
  
"Right, of course. Well, Bisclavret's assertions about some of the werewolves habits... urm..."  
  
"Sexually?"  
  
"Erm... yes. We'll, Bisclavret assertions are rather vague, but problematic nonetheless. He implies that the results of a... mating may create a sort of bond, rather like the one created in real wolves when they mate."  
  
"The bond created when wolves mate for life, you mean?"  
  
"Correct. There's not a whole lot of research out there about the subject. As far as I can tell, it appears that there is a significant correlation between the... physical act of intimacy... and some sort of change. The references are rather vague, and I'm not entirely sure what it's basis is. References are made to chemical, biological and metaphysical alterations afterwards."  
  
"As fascinating as this is Remus, what exactly does it mean?"  
  
"It means that if you... I... if we consummate this, then it's entirely possible that both of us will undergo some form of transformation. There's just not information available as to what kind of transformation. All I know is that it's irreversible, and it will bind us permanently. If one of us were to die... it might kill the other. If we were to separate, it's entirely possible it could produce unwanted side effects, like dementia. It's entirely possible that the transformation may influence you more, possibly enhancing any animal instincts you have, like calling your animagi potential into existence. It's also entirely possible you'll develop wolf characteristics, possibly even becoming a lycanthrope yourself. The whole situation is entirely too risky. Tracy, I think it would be best if we stopped seeing each other."  
  
Tracy sat for a moment, looking at him, dumbfounded. "So, if this is just presenting a problem, that means you haven't... consummated things with anybody else?"  
  
"It's never become an issue before, no." Remus ducked his head a bit and blushed.  
  
"Never?" Tracy looked at him curiously. "So, essentially, you're a virgin."  
  
"Do we really have to dwell on this?" Remus stood and began to walk towards the kitchen. "Suffice it to say, things will be staying that way, and I'm sorry to have wasted your time."  
  
"Oh no you don't," Tracy exclaimed, grabbing his hand. "You've had hours to brood about this and I've gotten less than five minutes. Plus, you don't get to make all the decisions, Remus. What if I want to pursue this?"  
  
Remus turned to face her and pulled his hand out from hers. "You can't, Tracy. It'd be torture for both of us to... continue this when we can't..."  
  
"Why can't we?" Tracy asked. "Remus, what's wrong with me that you wouldn't want to be bonded to me for life?"  
  
"Oh no," the blood drained out of Remus's face. "It's not that Tracy, I swear. It's just too much of a risk for you. I mean, to be tied to me for all eternity, and to experience any number of unknown physical changes..."  
  
"But I know what could happen, and I don't care! Remus, I've been chasing after you for a month and some stupid thing about me maybe changing into a werewolf is not going to stop me. If there is something to deal with, we'll handle it when it presents itself. Until then, I'm doing what I like."  
  
"Tracy, you can't imagine-" Remus protested.  
  
"But I can. You know that Remus. I studied werewolves at school, I've been with you before and after the change, I know. Now, you're coming back in that bedroom and you're going to lie back and appreciate all the freaking vanilla scented candles I picked out today, and all the other stuff I picked out earlier, and I'm going to ravish you, and you're going to like it, Dammit!"  
  
"Are you sure?"  
"Now!"  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Glin had been swaying in Mark's arms for the duration of three songs, when she felt a shift in Mark's arms. "Glin, Love, I'm needed in the back office, I'm handing you off to someone else."  
  
Without even opening her eyes, she swayed against the new person holding her, relaxing into his embrace.  
  
"Glin-"  
  
"Ssh..." She said, putting a finger to his lips. "I'm pretending you're you."  
  
They swayed like that a few minutes longer, until the stereo switched off and Mark came out from his office to tell them he wanted to lock things up.  
  
"Glin-" Ron said again, as softly as he had said it before, infinitely careful of her.  
  
"Ron? I have something to tell you, but I want to wait. Is that... okay?"  
  
"It's fine, Glin. I'm glad you're speaking to me again." She felt a kiss being pressed lightly to the crown of her head.  
  
"I was being stupid again. I do that lots, Ron. I'd rather not talk about that though. So, could we talk about it tomorrow, maybe, and tonight we'll just go back to your apartment and you'll hold me and we'll fall asleep and tomorrow things will be easy?"  
  
"I can't make tomorrow easy, but I can manage the rest, I think." 


	13. Wedding Belles

Glin woke up almost purring at the warm blanket that was wrapped around her. Snuggling down deeper into her blankets, she noticed that they seemed to be moving, in a not altogether unpleasant manner. Thinking back on the previous evening, she batted her eyes a few times, wincing at the bright light that was filling the room. Almost simultaneously she remembered the previous evening and she noticed that her face was currently nestled in Ron's neck. Stretching as much as she could without waking Ron, she smiled and burrowed her face deeper into his throat.  
  
Apparently, the smiling into his throat bit had not been as covert as she'd anticipated, as Ron made an out of tune humming noise in the back of his throat and his arms began stroking her back lightly. She kissed his adam's apple in silent apology. "Sorry I woke you."  
  
"Mmm." He responded.  
  
"We should probably get up though. It'd look really bad if we were late for the wedding."  
  
"Mmm. Especially if we were late together." He replied. "It might ruin your little secret."  
  
Glin stiffened momentarily. Did Ron know? Then, she realized he couldn't, and that he was just being irritable about the whole kind of secret on again off again apparently on again relationship they'd been having. It seemed Ron was getting a little fed up with the secrecy bit. Which, considering how she was feeling about things at the moment was not entirely a bad thing.  
  
"Well, they'll find out eventually. With this group no one has a secret for very long." She pulled one of the hands off her back and pressed a kiss to the knuckles before settling it on Ron's chest. "We can tell them when the wedding stuff is done with, if you want."  
  
Ron took used his other hand to pull her head up so that she was looking him in the eye. "Are you serious? Because I think I've been pretty reasonable about pretty much everything and I really don't think I can be that reasonable if you jerk me around much more."  
  
"Yeah. I don't do the whole serious thing a whole lot, Ron, so just. yeah. I have a thing we need to talk about, but I'd rather do it after the wedding is over, so. if after you still want to tell everybody, that's fine. I mean, I'll want to tell everybody to, it's just your. the ball is in your court after tonight, Ron."  
  
"Cool. Now, I have something serious to discuss with you. I'm quite miffed with you, actually." He looked at her, brow furrowed. "I intended to wake up before you and make waffles, and I really take issue with your waking up before me."  
  
"Ron, we have a wedding today. We don't have time to deal with the fire brigade." She smirked. "How about you go pick up pastries and coffee from the shop down the street and I'll take my shower and start getting ready for the wedding."  
  
"We can't take a shower together?"  
  
"Not if we want to be on time for the wedding, Ron."  
  
"Right." He stretched and let go of her, dropping a kiss on the top of her head as he slid out of bed. He grabbed his wand off the nightstand and intoned "Accio clothes."  
  
A pile of clothes zoomed off the floor and hit him from all directions. Plucking the pair of magenta panties off his forehead, he raised an eyebrow at Glin. "Right, next time I'd best be more specific."  
  
Glin watched as Ron pulled on his pants and sniffed the armpits of his shirt from the night before in a manly way. Sighing, she rolled out of bed and waltzed into her closet, pulling something off of one of the first hangers and then flinging it at him. "Make mine an orange juice."  
  
Ron frowned. "Another castoff from one of your flings?"  
  
She rolled her eyes. "It's mine. I bought it to wear for when Carlos is doing my make-up. That way I can have something on that I don't have to pull over my head to take off. It's just a plain men's dress shirt. But feel free to whine about it if you want."  
  
"Oh." Ron shrugged and put the shirt on and walked towards the door. "See you in a few."  
  
Glin walked into the bathroom, almost absurdly proud of the fact that Ron hadn't noticed that the shirt was brand new and matched his eyes exactly.  
  
Hermione woke up, rolled over, and kissed her bed partner passionately.  
  
Unfortunately, her bed partner didn't turn out to be Harry.  
  
Ginny sat bolt upright after knocking Hermione in the eye. "Blargh! Hermione!"  
  
"Sorry, Gin. Thought you were Harry." Hermione rubbed her sore eye.  
  
"Well, I'm bloody well not, you daffy bird! Merlin!"  
  
"You know, I don't think you normally would be this freaked out," Hermione studied Ginny cautiously. "Is there something wrong?"  
  
Ginny pulled her blankets up around her shoulders like a shield. "There is nothing wrong but the fact that I was unexpectedly awoken by some maniac snogging me like mad! Plus, you haven't brushed."  
  
"Your mouth isn't exactly a minty fresh treat either, Gin," Hermione pointed out.  
  
McGonagall waltzed into the room and hopped up on the bed next to Ginny, examining her closely for a moment. "She was having a dream."  
  
"Shut up, Minnie."  
  
"Really?" Hermione asked. "I'm sorry, was it a nice one?"  
  
"Oh yeah." McGonagall answered for her.  
  
"What about?"  
  
"One more word Minnie and I swear I'm switching to the bargain kibble."  
  
Hermione's eyes opened wider. "Oh! One of those dreams." She smiled widely. "So how is Draco Darling?"  
  
"Shut up or I'll give you a black eye for real, Hermione. It'll look really nice with that white dress you've got to throw on in a few hours."  
  
"Oh, Merlin." Hermione flopped back down on the bed next to Ginny. "I'm getting married."  
  
"You think you'd have realized that sometime during the past few months, you nutter." Ginny smiled as she stood up and stretched, while humming the wedding march. "You'd better have a shower otherwise we're going to be late, and Carlos will have a fit."  
  
"Carlos has a fit on a regular basis. He's like Ron only gay."  
  
"I'm sure they would both adore that comparison. What do you want for breakfast?"  
  
"Cup of tea and dry toast." McGonagall and Ginny looked at her with almost identical smirks on their faces, which was pretty remarkable considering they weren't even the same species. "I do not have jitters or cold feet. I just think it's best not to tempt fate. Stop staring like that, it's creepy."  
  
As it turned out, Carlos was having a fit. But not of the kind any of them had anticipated.  
  
"I swear to Merlin you've got to get up and get out right now!"  
  
There was an unintelligible mumble from under the covers of Carlos' bed.  
  
"I've got to be there in half an hour. Get up, get up!"  
  
Finally, a mussed head emerged from beneath the maroon silk coverlet. "'los, I'm tired. I'll just sleep here."  
  
"Someone's going to see you and then Lavender is going to be here pounding on my door at all hours of the night, screaming for you."  
  
"That's a shitty thing to do a man's libido, mentioning his wife." The man pouted, his hand coming out of the bed to snake around Carlos' waist.  
  
"Yes, well, I could care less about it right now. I've got a wedding party to make presentable, and you've got a wife to coddle. Run along now."  
  
A kiss was pressed to Carlos' shoulder.  
  
"Out, out, out! Or I tell Lavender something she'll definitely want to hear about."  
  
Carlos arrived at the bride's dressing room with plenty of time to spare. He set his cases down on a table and began opening all the little compartments, checking to make sure everything was where it was supposed to be. It was, of course, because if Carlos treated his tools and supplies like they were worth twice their weight in gold, which many of them quite possibly were. Carlos spent more money each year on the latest and best in cosmetic supplies than most people spent on luxury sports cars, but then again, Carlos also made enough from his clientele to afford the very best.  
  
Angelina and Alicia walked in a few minutes later, and Carlos began his work in earnest. He whipped hair into sleek French twists with a few tendrils curling around their faces. The look went well with the simple and traditional design Hermione and Padma had decided upon for the gowns. They were traditional witches robes, modified a bit to be a bit more feminine. The robes were fitted very close to their bodies, taking kind of a dressy version of a peasant's dress from the renaissance. Hermione's was cream with gold and crimson accents, while the bridesmaids' were iridescent shimmering between crimson and gold.  
Carlos had the look of a man insanely devoted to what he was doing. His intense gaze caused many of the women he was making up to become nervous to the point where he was worried about them sweating until he performed a temporary anti-perspiration charm on all of them, except for Glin, who was used to Carlos barking "Accio Wine-y Witch Lip Dye!"  
After around an hour and a half of silence that was frequently interrupted by "Galleons in Your Eyes!" and "Witching Hour!" Carlos' masterpieces were complete. The women looked wonderful, each looking their best while looking as if they belonged in a group together, except of course for McGonagall. "Tabby matches nothing," Carlos had sulked before declaring the cat a lost cause and tying a trio of ribbons in cream, crimson and gold around her neck jauntily.  
  
Harry stepped out into the cathedral that Hermione's parents had been married in and stood at the front, nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot as he waited for the whole thing to be over with. It wasn't that he had doubts or anything like that. He'd known he'd wanted to be with Hermione for years, quite possibly since her brief and ill-fated relationship with Viktor Krum, although, he hadn't admitted it to himself since long after the event. No, Harry's worries were not about Hermione, they were about the fact that there were an inordinate amount of people crowded into the cathedral, and unfortunately, the small, intimate wedding he'd pictured had become a giant, standing room only sort of affair, which seemed ridiculously lax security wise, considering the majority of the people there were wizards trying to hide that very fact from Hermione's extended family, who were all muggles.  
Harry briefly wondered how they could possibly imagined they'd get out of the whole affair without obliviating a couple people.  
Then, Ron nudged him in the side, and he turned, and all of a sudden he didn't have to worry about any of those things, because the precise moment he saw Hermione all higher brain functions ceased entirely, and all of his energies were devoted to attempting to begin breathing again.  
She looked.lovely. Radiant. Not that she didn't normally look wonderful, but this was significantly different. Even better than the Bond girl costume that he'd been infinitely fond of. As if that wasn't enough, through some miracle of fate, she kept walking towards him. Then, she grabbed his hand, and she squeezed it, and Harry knew that if the Mirror of Erised were right in front of him right now, the mirror would depict this exact scene: the moment all of his dreams came true. Harry had spent his entire life wishing for a family, and now here she was, standing in front of him, her eyes reflecting back all the joy in his heart.  
Then, in some absurd trick of time, the whole world sped up insanely fast, as if it was on fast forward and he was terribly afraid that Hermione would belt him because he'd inevitably mess it up. Then, Dumbledore was telling him to kiss his bride, and he was, and she was- his wife. Not his girlfriend or lover or friend, but all of those things rolled up into one with a simple, convenient and official title. Wife.  
  
The dinner after was nice. Candles on long tables covered with linen tablecloths. A string quartet playing. A nice little dance floor where people could dance if they were so inclined, and an open bar. The open bar contributed significantly to Ron being comfortable enough to give his best man's toast, and would have contributed even more had Glin not cut him off.  
"I've known Harry and Herm for years, since we were school chums. I've seen them both grow up and I've seen them both grow together and I have to say that if you can find any pair in the world more suited to each other than I'll be amazed. I'm not much good at giving speeches, which is why I was actually surprised they picked me at all, knowing that how I am about this sort of thing, what with the rambling I tend to do when I'm." Ron stared out over the sea of faces staring at him and blush. "Right, well, I'm doing it again. Anyway, I love you both, and I wish that every day of your lives together you'll remember how you felt today, and how we all came together to celebrate how very much the two of you love each other. Right, I'm done now. Cheers!"  
The crowd smiled, and cheered, and everyone took a sip from their glass and looked at Glin expectantly.  
"Right, well, there are probably a million or so stories about Harry and Hermione as a couple, many of which are not appropriate for those assembled here for. various reasons. However, none of those stories couple accurately capture the way they look at each other like and smile like they know a secret that none of the rest of us are privy to, and I think that secret is what exactly it feels like to be in love with your best friend in the world. Harry, Hermione, I wish you all the luck in all the world and more, although I'm certain you won't need it at all. Cheers."  
The crowd once again raised their glass and murmured "cheers" but before Glin could take a sip, the room was plunged into darkness.  
Unlike in a horror film, there were no shrieks or swooning women. There was a brief moment of silence followed by a wash of confused chatter enveloping the room. Harry stood in the darkness and spoke calmly but loudly. "Stay calm everybody. Probably just a draft." But he knew it wasn't. There was magic afoot, and most of the people in the room knew it. A draft didn't wipe out fifty candles in a room, regardless of how many windows were open. Not simultaneously. Something was very wrong. "Can whoever is closest to the door see if they can find a light switch?"  
One of Hermione's cousins or uncles or something found a light switch near the banquet hall doors, behind a crimson velvet curtain. It took an inordinate amount of time, and the tension in the room was palpable.  
Big fluorescent lights in the ceiling flickered on.  
Hermione stood next to Harry and smiled at the audience. "Well, it does spoil the ambience a bit, but as long as everyone's all right."  
"They're not," Ron said dully, his face white and pale. "She's gone." 


	14. Lights Up

Harry was amazed at his wife's transformation. Before his eyes she'd shifted to giggling new bride to some sort of Amazon warrior. Ron had said Glin was missing and she'd just snapped into attention, as if sweet and caring Hermione were merely a candy coating over some sort of steely interior. He'd always known it was there, he'd just never seen her switch quite so quickly.

She smiled to the audience again, but this time there was something fake to it, something few people other than Harry would pick up on. She sat down and took a bite of food in her mouth, chewing slowly and watching her surroundings as Ron stared at her horrified. Then she spoke out of the corner of her mouth. "Angelina and Alicia- go check the loo. Ron, go tell the band to play something to get people dancing. I don't want people noticing something is wrong until we've got things under control. Harry, you take Sirius and go patrol the doors. I want no one getting out of this building without going through the two of you first. Remus, you will go pick up Tracy and fill her in. The two of you will coordinate with me when you return. I will stay and charm people into not noticing something has happened. For all we know she just had a bad bite of chicken and she picked the wrong time to sick it up."

An hour later Glin was still missing, and no clues were to be found. Hermione was exhausted from charm work, and despite her best efforts, even the muggles were beginning to notice something was amiss. Upset and confused, she finally hit the side of her glass with a butter knife, trying to get people's attention. Annoyed when the chattering continued, she whacked it harder, and succeeded in breaking the glass. Hundreds of eyes turned to her. "Whoops! Guess I'm a bit out of sorts. Long day and all." She feigned an apologetic smile. "In any case, we're going to have to cut things a bit short. Harry and I spent the past few months putting this all together, but unfortunately we just haven't the energy to go on much longer. So, if you all wouldn't mind..."

"Get out so we can enjoy our wedding night, right love?" Harry turned to Hermione, kissing her on the forehead and grinning at the crowd cheekily. The few grumbles of unpleasantness at Hermione's lack of tact had been smoothed over by Harry's charm. They were now just a typical couple looking to enjoying the first moments of their marriage.

Harry and Hermione went to the doors to hug people as they left. The rest of the wedding party was still roaming the premises searching for any hints as to Glin's whereabouts. As the crowd streamed through doors, Harry and Hermione quietly asked anyone they thought could be useful to assemble discreetly behind the building. It was another hour before the couple could get back to their primary goal- searching for Glin.

Hermione explained the situation to the party guests who had stayed behind, asking them to help scour the building looking for enchanted items, scraps of Glin's clothing or hair, anything that could provide them with information. "No one goes anywhere alone. You need to use the loo, you tag someone to go with you. We're not losing anyone else tonight."

A few hours later someone covering the south lawn had sent up a flare. The mass of wizards converged there to look at a shoe that was partially obscured by a blackberry bush. Entirely impractical, it was a crimson shoe with a kitten heel and long gold ribbons secured to the sides that were designed to wind up around the wearer's calf. Ron's stomach roiled as he recalled Glin tying the ribbons earlier in her flat.

"Right." Hermione said in resignation. "She's now officially missing. Civilian wizards, I appreciate your help, but this matter is something best left to the authorities now. Go home, have a cup of tea and go to bed. If you think of anything you saw or heard...owl me directly please." She accioed one of the portable cameras they'd put on the tables for the guests to take pictures and snapped a few of the shoe from different angles as people left. Then she turned to face the people she'd come to think of as her family. Harry, looking rumpled and upset, Ron looking devastated and confused, the rest of the Weasley's looking eager to help but not sure how. Draco standing next to Ginny, clutching her with one hand, holding his daughter with the other, McGonagall twining around their feet. Dumbledore in the back looking old and tired, Tracy standing next to Remus and looking all business. Sirius looking cagey and irritated.

"Right, I know we're all concerned, but if we're to find her it's going to take a coordinated effort. What I said before about not tearing off on your own is doubly important now. You never go anywhere alone. We don't know who took Glin, and we don't know why, so until we figure those things out, we all watch our backs. There isn't much you lot can do-" At the deluge of protests she raised a hand to them and increased her volume. "As you are not trained professionals, there isn't much you can do, so go home, and stay together. I've contacted a team of aurors to come over and survey the place again and begin an analysis on the shoe. When they arrive, you lot will return to your homes and await further contact. Ginny- you and Minnie should stay at Draco's awhile. The wards are better over there. Sirius will bunk down with Remus, and the rest of you can make your own arrangements. A team consisting of myself, Tracy, Harry and Ron will be examining Glin's apartment. I'll send another team of aurors to scour it after we've made an initial examination." Realizing she had an expert consultant on magic readily available, Hermione's eyes lit upon Dumbledore's. "Headmaster? Have you any advice? Did you...sense anything?"

"I regret to say I cannot help you much, Hermione. Dark forces are afoot, but I cannot make claims to know what kind. If what happened inside those walls was an enchantment, I certainly couldn't tell you what kind."

"That's what I was afraid of."

Glin's was aboard a small aircraft bound for parts unknown. She slept fitfully, and could not seem to wake up. She tried to reach beside her for Ron and found she could not move her arms that far. Her body was sluggish and twitchy. All movement was entirely involuntary. She could not open her eyes. She tried to remember what had happened. Too many drinks at Hex? No, a hangover felt different than this. Besides, she hadn't been at the bar tonight. She'd had something important? A photo shoot, maybe? Or something with her friends...? Harry and Hermione's wedding was soon, had it been the rehearsal...no. It had been the wedding. Could she have possibly gotten so drunk she didn't remember the wedding? She must have, because after some of the fog lifted, the last bit she could fully recall was arguing with Carlos about eyeliner. Goddess, what had she been drinking? Maybe it had just hit her more because she hadn't had a drink in awhile, because of the...oh Merlin. The last thought she had before she slipped into unconsciousness was that she was in terrible trouble and it had nothing to do with liquor.

Her captor looked at her worriedly and pulled out a small cellphone. "She's wiggling around. I don't think they're supposed to do that when they're on this stuff."

A bored voice came through the static-filled channel. "Then give her more."

"I don't think I can safely do that, sir. They don't generally put pregnant women under- the baby could come out with extra arms or something."

"What has given you this ridiculous misapprehension that I care what happens to the child?"

"It puts the mother at risk, too, sir. If she loses it we can't exactly rush her to a hospital. She could bleed out and die."

The phone line was silent for a moment.

"Mario, I cannot explain in words how much I am frustrated with you. She will be kept asleep until her arrival, and she will be in the best of health until then. You will be held personally responsible if things are somehow otherwise."

A click, and the phone's digital display lit up. "Call has ended" it read.


End file.
